


Murphy's Law

by orphan_account



Category: Dear Evan Hansen - Pasek & Paul/Levenson
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Anxiety, Dad problems, Everyone Is Gay, F/F, Family Problems, Honestly this is a mess, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M, Suicide Attempt, Tree Bros, abuse maybe??, canon typical language, larry murphy deserves his own tag, suicide ideation
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-17
Updated: 2018-07-09
Packaged: 2018-12-03 12:05:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 51,656
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11531868
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Connor Murphy doesn't expect to ever, ever get a happy ending. He doesn't want one. But life has a funny way of giving you everything you don't want and nothing you do sometimes, doesn't it?





	1. once you're gone, you can never come back

_Dear Evan Hansen,_  
_Today is going to be a good day, and here's why: you have Environmental Science first period. Jared hasn't made a single joke about your anxiety yet. Your palms aren't as sweaty as normal. No one gave you any funny looks this morning, not that they should have but sometimes they do and-_

"Jesus, Evan, another one of those creepy sex letters? When will you be satisfied?" Jared chuckles, slinging his bag into the chair next to Evan. Evan startles, hurriedly closing the open browser and trying to muster up a laugh. "You gonna print that, man? There'd better be a gay scene in it somewhere, or I'll throw a fit." 

_So much for Jared not giving you shit,_ he thinks, _and so much for dry hands._

 

~~~~

 

Environmental Science goes well (as well as it can) for being the first period on a sticky August morning. By the time class is over, Evan has had plenty of time to recover from Jared's surprise visit to the computer lab before school. His elbow ached from banging it against the table in his fright, but other than that he was relatively unscathed. He's lucky he didn't bang his broken arm- that would have royally screwed his day. His cast, emblazoned with CONNOR (almost like a name tag, or one of those fancy signs you got for a parking place in the school lot when you were important or rich enough to deserve one) is itchy and stiff, but the bold, permanent-marker-stubborn letters refuse to fade. They're well into the second week of school, but he hasn't seen Connor since the very first day. It's been... weird. To say the least. Jared says "It's no big deal, Evan, honestly. We're probably safer without him, I mean, did you see him on the first day? He looked like a long-haired Dylan Klebold or something." which does nothing to ease Evan's nerves. How many school shooter jokes can Jared make, anyway? They're really getting kind of old, not that Evan could ever say anything about it. Connor still has Evan's note, the first one of the school year, the Zoe note, the most embarrassing one he's ever written, and if he weren't already a mess pre-Connor incident, he definitely was now. 

 

After Environmental Science he has Spanish and Math, which both pass in a shaky blur of bouncing knees and tapping toes. By the time Math is over, he has a horrible feeling in his stomach, the same kind of feeling he gets when his dad calls unexpectedly or when he has to wait for the pizza delivery man to count his change back to him. He could just be gassy, or nauseous from his medicine, or sick with the stomach flu, or he could have a tapeworm or some kind of parasite living in his intestines, but he mostly just feels filled with dread. 

 

He doesn't see Jared again until lunchtime, which means he doesn't have to really talk to anyone until then. Which is a good thing. When he does get to lunch, though, Jared is waiting for him with a tray of food and a jittery grimace. Immediately, his palms get damp again and his broken arm gets itchy and his stomach flutters uncomfortably. 

 

"I got enough food for both of us," Jared starts as soon as Evan reaches him. He puts a hand against the small of Evan's back and pushes gently. Against all anxious instinct, Evan allows himself to be lead back out of the cafeteria and outside, where Jared instructs him to take a deep breath and ‘chill out, man, you're making me nervous,’ so Evan stutters through an apology and sits on the sidewalk, drying his hands on his khaki thighs. He's so gross. He's so so so so gross, what the hell, nobody else has a hand sweating problem. 

 

"What's going on?" he attempts, but it comes out more like, "What'sgoingon!" and he feels so stupid that he almost misses Jared's response. 

 

"Mrs. Schallon came up to me after study hall," his voice wavers. "And she wanted to know how you were doing, and if we were still friends. She asked me to bring you to the office after lunch," he says. He's pacing. "It didn't seem good." 

 

"What did she say?" Oh man, now his armpits are sweating too, and his heart is going to fall out of his chest. Jared is acting weird, he never takes anything this seriously, ever. "Jared, you're not messing with me, are you?"

 

"No, Evan, I'm not messing with you," Jared scowls, hands on his hips. "I just don't understand why they would want you at the office. You don't even skip assignments, let alone do anything bad enough to get you called to the office. And why the hell do you need an escort there?" 

 

"I don't know?" Evan squeaks, and his pulse hammers against his skin. _Maybe you did something, he thinks. Maybe you really messed up. Maybe someone knows what actually happened to your arm. Maybe maybe maybe-_

 

"Eat quickly and I'll take you," Jared sighs, checking his phone. "Hopefully they just need me to drop you off."

 

"Yeah," Evan mutters, picking at the ham sandwich Jared bought for him. "Hopefully."

 

~~~~

 

"You go in," Jared hisses, prodding Evan in the back. 

 

"No! You go in!" Evan replies, batting Jared's hand away. "Look at me! Look how shaky I am! I can hardly keep myself upright, let alone go in there!"

 

"You're the one they wanted in here anyway, I shouldn't have to open the damn door for you!" 

 

"It's just a door, Jared, are you scared of it?"

 

"You're one to talk-"

 

The door swings open, and their principal is staring at them like they're idiots. Oh, god. Evan has made a fool of himself again, in front of Mrs. Schallon, and Jared, and probably the whole school because he's sure that they're all watching by now and his eyes are darting around so fast it's making him dizzy and-

 

"Mom?" They finally, blessedly land on his mother, who is sitting stiff and sniffly in the uncomfortable chairs in front of Mrs. Schallon's desk.

 

"Evan," Mrs. Schallon says, ushering him inside. She shoots Jared a look but doesn't tell him to leave, so he throws himself down on the couch outside of the office with a heavy sigh. 

 

"I'll wait for you," Jared mouths, and the heavy oak door is closing between them and Evan's mind is racing. Surely this is about that time in fifth grade when he accidentally peed on the wall and didn't tell anyone. Or the time in third grade when he stepped on their class hamster and put it back in its cage so no one would know. Or the time in eighth grade when he took someone else's pencil case by accident and never gave it back because he was too nervous to approach the owner. Surely Mrs. Schallon just found out about all these terrible things and now he's going to be expelled. His mom starts crying. 

 

"Mom? What, um, what's going on?"  
"Evan," Mrs. Schallon tries again. "I think you should sit down." She offers a handful of tissues to Heidi, who passes one to Evan. He's already started in on his runny nose, it's only a matter of time before his eyes begin dripping stupidly like they always do. 

 

"Am I in trouble?" Evan asks, trying to gulp down as much air as he can.  
"Oh, heavens no," Mrs. Schallon says. Her face crumples a bit and stays that way until she rubs at her temples, smoothing away any sign of distress. "Evan, it's about Connor Murphy."

 

The room is spinning. It has to be. Evan has only been this dizzy once in his life, and that was when he went to the amusement park with his dad in Colorado and got motion sick from watching the swing ride. That was the only time he ever visited. Beside him, his mom makes a heavy, shuddery noise and blows her nose. There is a pregnant silence and what if Connor gave Mrs. Schallon his letter and that's what this is about, what if Mrs. Schallon is going to read the letter out loud to him and his mom, what if everyone finds out about Zoe Murphy because Mrs. Schallon accidentally pressed the button on her desk to turn the loudspeakers on and broadcasted their conversation to the whole school?

 

"Evan, honey, take a breath," his mom says wetly, rubbing his back. "Deep breath in, hold it, long breath out." 

 

"Connor, um, Connor Murphy?" He whispers. He's definitely sweating through his shirt, his new blue shirt that his mom bought him specifically because ‘blue's your favorite color, Evan, it'll boost your confidence!’

 

"Yes, do you know him?" Mrs. Schallon has regained her composure, but her eyes are soft. 

 

"Um. Um, I- not really? He signed my cast, um." _And took my letter and probably posted it all over the Internet and-_

 

"Connor Murphy attempted suicide last Thursday..." You know when you're watching television or a movie and something horrifically shocking happens to the main character and suddenly there is a piercing, ringing sound and the screen starts to go fuzzy? "...Evan? Evan."

 

"He... he what?" He has his eyes shut as tight as they will go, he's clutching the arms of the chair with all the strength his skinny arms can muster, and his stomach keeps clenching uncomfortably. "He tried to kill himself?"

 

"Yes," Mrs. Schallon says. She clears her throat. Clears it again. 

"Why are you telling me this? Sorry, sorry sorry, I just, um."

 

"He left a note, Evan," his mom says. She puts her hand on top of his and squeezes. "Do you want to read it?" He can't tell if he shakes his head yes or no but suddenly there is a sheet of paper in his hands and he cracks open his eyes just wide enough to see words that are all too familiar to him.

 

_Dear Evan Hansen,_  
_Today is going to be a good day, and here's why-_

 

"Mom, no, Mom, this isn't his note, this was mine, my assignment, Mom, Mom-" his knee bounces so hard that it cracks against the lip of Mrs. Schallon's desk. 

 

"This isn't yours, honey," she says, smoothing his hair down, holding his face between her hands, kissing his forehead, wiping under his eyes and when did he start crying? "They found yours in his pocket."

 

"This is incredibly unusual, but we were all hoping you might be able to help Connor. His parents agreed that it would be best, considering, well. You read the note," Mrs. Schallon says, tone soft. "He's coming back to school tomorrow, and he needs someone right now. Clearly, he chose you."

 

~~~~

 

Evan goes home after the meeting. Jared is still stewing on the couch when they leave, but he hurries away as soon as he catches sight of them. 

"I know this is hard," Heidi says once they're in the car. "But I talked to Dr. Sherman, and he seems confident that this will be good for you. Hopefully you can be a friend to this poor boy." 

 

"I don't even know him, Mom, I didn't- I couldn't- I," he takes a deep breath. His jaw aches from clenching it anxiously. "I don't, um, know how to do this?" 

 

"Well, before you do anything, I want you to take a rest. After all this news, you definitely deserve one." They spend the rest of the drive in silence, and it's not until they get home that Evan realizes he's got Connor's letter clasped in his hand. 

Evan and his mom watch shitty daytime soaps for the remainder of the day, and nearly forgets all about Connor. Until he checks his phone. 

\--> Jared Kleinman 9:43 PM- _what the hell was that all about??_

He's in his room now, away from his mom and away from the world. The letter is sitting on his desk, but he hasn't been able to read past _Dear Evan Hansen, Today is going to be a good day, and here's why._ He inhales deeply through his nose and pushes the breath slowly from his mouth before responding.

\--> Evan Hansen 9:51 PM- _connor murphy. ill explain more tomorrow._

\--> Jared Kleinman 9:51 PM- _so it isnt about ur creepy sex letters?_

Evan has to take a really, really deep breath after that one. 

\--> Evan Hansen 9:52 PM- _no. im going to bed._

He turns off his phone and shoves it under his pillow, but he doesn't intend to go to sleep yet. He has to read Connor's letter first, so he can think about how the hell to help somebody unreachable. He wonders if anybody has a map, or a guidebook, an instruction manual. Anything. Anything at all would be better than this. 

_Dear Evan Hansen,_  
_Today is going to be a good day, and here's why: I finally have a plan. It's damn near foolproof, and I am over-the-moon, dripping with it. I have a bucket list, though, so this might take a couple of days. Stay tuned for further updates._

_Today is going to be a good day, and here's why: we've already established I'm going to kill myself, so what I do (or don't do) now doesn't even matter. I'm finally free. I woke up this morning and didn't come to school. My mom told me I couldn't skip the first day, so I didn't, but she never said anything about the second. Did anyone notice I was missing? Did you see my sister, Evan? Did she look different? Did she seem worried, or angry, or sad? Or was she just tired of it all? I know I am. Sorry for taking up your whole cast, by the way, you just looked so damn lonely and I was too, and a blank cast is kind of pathetic. So today is going to be a good day because today I am going to get absolutely out of my mind stoned. I haven't had a good high in ages, and I want to do that before I. Before I die._

_Today is going to be a good day, and here's why: I am completing the second, third, and fourth items on my bucket list. I already got completely stoned yesterday, so that's out of the way. Number two is simple: lay in bed for as long as I want, doing whatever I want, and not getting out until I feel so inclined. So I'm writing this in bed right now, and isn't that so sad? All I can think to do is write my suicide note to a boy I don't even know very well. Maybe I'll get off or something and not clean the sheets, that'll really be living (ha) on the edge. Maybe I'll sleep. Maybe I'll just listen to music and contemplate how I'm going to get this to you._

 

 _Well. Update. I didn't clean the sheets._  
_Number three is a bit more difficult, because I actually have to leave the house to do it which is really challenging sometimes. There are days where I'd rather die (haha) than leave my bedroom, let alone the house. But it's just the library, so it shouldn't be a big deal. I want to have my top ten books with me when I die. Did you know English is (was) my favorite subject?_

 

 _Number four is just to be a little bit happy. To have a little bit of a good day. Which. After laying around for hours doing everything I could do from a bed, then going to collect all of my favorite books, shouldn't be hard. But it is, it is hard because the whole point of this is that I'm not happy and I'm afraid that if I get too happy I'll flake out. So maybe I'll scratch number four. It could be too dangerous._

_Today is going to be a good day, and here's why: I am going to do it today. Today is the day I finally kill myself. Nobody will even notice that I'm gone, probably, and if they do they will be relieved. If you see Zoe, tell her I love her. I didn't ever say that enough. She probably doesn't care, never mind. I've finished my bucket list just now- I went back to Autumn Smile Apple Orchard, did you know that was my favorite place growing up? It was the last thing on my list, too. I just wanted to see it one last time before I. Die. Well. I did, and now it's time to go. This letter is so damn sad. The saddest thing I've ever seen, except maybe your empty cast. Didn't you say you fell out of a tree? I don't know if I believe your story. Keep an eye on my sister, would you? I love her so much, you wouldn't even believe it. She's not like me, not yet, hopefully not ever, but I know that you care about her so. Please. Please make sure she doesn't do what I'm about to. Evan Hansen, you and me are alike. We're losers, you know that? We fade into the background. We get lost too easily and nobody wants to find us- or if they do, if they really want to, they give up halfway through and stop looking. So we. We disappear. No one deserves that, you know? Scratch that. Maybe I do. When I was little, I used to think that I would grow up to be an artist, did you know that? I wanted so badly to connect with people, to be able to make purposefully ugly things and for them to_ _mean_ _something. But. Well. You know how the story goes. Now I just. I made myself, I guess? But the really horrible, gut wrenching part is that I_ _don't_ _mean anything. I don't matter. Nobody is going to be affected by this, there will be no ripples. I'm flickering out, Evan. And it hurts like hell and I'm tired of flickering and fading and getting lost and disappearing, but there's nothing I can do to change it so I'm just going to end it. Maybe I deserve this, Evan, but nobody else does. Don't let yourself become like me. Don't flicker. Burn and burn and burn and fight it until you're too old to fight anymore. But don't follow in my footsteps._  
_Sincerely, me._

Evan takes a shuddery breath. Well. That was a lot. His lungs are fluttering weakly behind his ribs and his heart pulses heavily against his chest. He knows all too well what Connor is talking about, the flickering feeling, like he could just be blown out and forgotten about. With shaking hands, he sets the letter on his desk and puts a book on top of it, and opens his window. Sometimes the fresh air is enough to calm him down and he won't need to dry swallow a Xanax, so he waits for the breeze to touch his skin and tries to breathe the way Dr. Sherman taught him. Deep breath in through the nose for six seconds, hold it for seven, and out through the mouth for eight. In for six, hold for seven, out for eight. Over and over until he knows it's not working and has to scramble to the medicine cabinet before he _really_ starts panicking. There's a sticky note on the inside of the cabinet that his mom wants him to tally whenever he needs a pill, and a pencil next to the medicine bottle, so he makes a tally and swallows his Xanax.

"You alright?" His mom calls from the living room. 

 

"Yeah, I'm fine!" He warbles, throat closing around the words. Heidi doesn't call back up to him. So. He goes back to his room and lays down, waiting for the medicine to kick in and mellow him out so he can actually go to bed. The soft yellow glow of the streetlight illuminates the desk, and the last thing he sees before drifting into a restless sleep is Connor's letter, halfway tucked beneath _Huck Finn._

 

~~~~

 

In his sleep, he sees Connor. They're in temple or something, they have to be, because Evan only ever wears a blazer like this to temple. Why is Connor lying down during a service? Nobody could sleep in a pew, they're so uncomfortable to just sit in, but his eyes are closed and he looks peaceful. _But,_ Evan thinks, _he's not asleep, is he?_ No, if he was asleep, he would move or mumble or breathe, but he's still as death in his pew that isn't a pew, because suddenly it's a coffin and Connor is dead and Evan can't breathe again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay, this is a mess. forgive me.


	2. I wanna have control

His mom sends him to school on Friday with a plastic baggie of pills and tells him he should start keeping some at school too, just in case.   
"Mom?" he starts in the car, twisting the hem of his shirt. "What do I- how could I, um. What do I say to him?"

"Oh, honey," she says, and he sees her face go soft. "Just be yourself. I'm so proud of you, Evan. You're a good kid." She pats his arm and pulls up to the front of school, dropping him off at the doors. He thanks her and steps out of the car, already regretting even bringing it up. He's early, so he books it to the computer lab before Jared can catch sight of him. What he's not counting on is Connor Murphy also being at school early, sitting against the door of the band room with his eyes closed. 

Evan flushes, certain that Connor is going to crack open his eyes and glare at him until he melts into a puddle, but he stays still as Evan scurries by. It reminds him too much of his dream, Connor sitting so deadly still that he worries for a moment that he is, you know, _dead_ , but his chest rises and falls slowly and Evan feels something tight within him uncoil. Connor really is alive. He walks as quickly as he can without breaking a sweat until he gets to the computer lab, and his head races as he tries to calm down. Hurriedly, he powers on a computer and logs into his gmail. He's gotten through half a page before he realizes what he's typing, and his fingers stall on the keyboard. Suddenly, he can't think of anything meaningful, important, or insightful to say. So, he takes a deep breath, and signs off. He prints his letter and logs out- barely ten minutes have passed since he got to school, but his anxiety is spiking and his hands are practically dripping so he snatches the letter from the printer and goes back to the band room, where Connor is still sitting. Thankfully, still breathing. The stupid, horrible cast starts itching again, but he ignores it and approaches Connor. He places the letter on Connor's lap, nearly tripping over his outstretched legs, because he can't do anything right and he's clumsy as hell. If Connor notices him, he doesn't say anything. Evan isn't sure what to do next, but he's shaking so bad that he really needs to sit down. Sitting on the floor next to Connor is the worst idea he's ever had and he's positive that if he did, Connor's eyes would snap open and he would start screaming or something, just lose his mind, like _who the fuck is this mess of a kid who just sat next to me_ , and he would pound Evan into a pile of little broken pieces and he would have to go to the hospital and then school would be even worse for Connor because everyone would know that he like, killed a kid outside the band room. So. Deep breaths. The wall ends up being his greatest source of comfort- he has to lean against it a few times while he waits for the shaking in his legs to pass. It's horrible, and he almost wishes he'd just sat next to Connor. He goes back to the computer lab and writes a letter for himself this time. 

_Dear Connor Murphy,_  
 _Today is going to be a good day, and here's why: you're alive. You're alive, and you aren't lost, and you didn't flicker out. You're alive, Connor Murphy, living and breathing and people are looking for you and we won't give up this time. You won't fade away. Today is going to be a good day because today is the first day of the rest of your life. Today is the day you didn't think you would see. You matter, and you're still here, and that matters too. We're looking for you, Connor, and you will be found._   
_Sincerely, me._

~~~~

Evan runs into Jared at his locker. He has a shit eating grin on his face and an iced tea in his hands, which he passes to Evan without comment. Despite the initial spike of anxiety upon seeing Jared, Evan feels relatively at ease. The tea was definitely a nice touch, and warmth spreads in his belly as he realizes that Jared must know he can't drink coffee.   
"So," Jared starts, leaning in close as Evan opens his locker. "What's going on with the _psycho_?" Immediately, any affection he felt toward Jared floods out of him. Of course. Of course, he was just trying to get Evan to spill about Connor. 

"He's not a- he's not a psycho, Jared," Evan stutters, face flushing and he's being stupid again, it was just a joke but it wasn't funny and now Jared is going to hate him forever and ever and he _really_ won't have any friends because despite what his cast says he doesn't even know Connor Murphy, but he wants to and- "Don't call him that."

"What is he, your boyfriend or something?" Jared is definitely irritated, but not as much so as Evan assumed, which is a good thing.

"No!" He drops his books, because nothing in his life can go smoothly, and has to scramble to pick them up. "Not that there's, um. Not that's there's anything wrong with him." Jared crouches to help him with his books and gives him a look, which can't possibly be good, but together they load his books into his backpack. Evan has a certain way he keeps things organized- loose papers are flattened between textbooks to keep them from getting mashed up, binders are always in pairs, and notebooks and folders go in the elastic pocket at the very back. So when Jared moves his History textbook to slide the Advanced Botany book between it and his Calculus book, he has to move the papers between the books, too. And normally this wouldn't be a big deal because all he ever has are tests and essays but today he has Connor's letter and Jared sees it and pulls it out because why _wouldn't_ he pull it out? He probably thinks it's just another one of Evan's creepy sex letters and wants to read it. 

"Dear Evan Hansen," Jared starts, loud enough that surely the entire school can hear him. "Today is going to be a good day and here's why: I finally have a plan-"

"Shut up," Evan hisses, but Jared speaks over him.

"It's damn near fool-proof, and I am over-the-moon, dripping with it. I have a bucket list, though,'" Jared stops, looks up at him sharply. "Evan, what is this?"

"Can we, um, do this somewhere else?" His hands are sweating again and he's trying to zip his backpack, but Jared has a death-grip on it and he won't let go. "Jared?" Evan stands, holding out a hand to pull Jared up.

"Give me a second, Evan, Jesus." Jared lets go of the backpack (but not the letter) and stands, ignoring Evan's hand. He starts walking without telling Evan where they're going so Evan follows close behind, hoping to god that he can keep up because Jared is practically running down the hall. Subconsciously, Evan is looking for the Murphy siblings and he catches sight of Zoe at her locker. She looks more angry than anything. Jared doesn't slow down until they make it to the library. Chest heaving, he slams the letter down on a table and snaps, "Explain."

"It's not mine," Evan tries. It sounds lame and fake and like a lie because his voice comes out guilty and nervous. 

"Really? Because it looks like yours." Jared's tone is accusatory. Evan is sweating through his shirt again. "And if you're planning on killing yourself, you'd better fucking stop." Evan has never seen Jared this serious in his life. It's almost comforting, to know that Jared cares this much, but then again he probably only cares because if Evan died he'd be completely friendless. He wishes he had his iced tea now, his mouth just got so dry that it's like a desert, but he left it in his locker where it's probably sweating all over his new school supplies-

"Did you um. Did you read the whole thing? It's not mine, Jared. It's not. And. Um. If you read the whole letter, you'll, um. You'll see." Jared mumbles something under his breath but picks the letter up anyway, reading it quickly. His brow furrowed, Jared almost looks worried, an expression Evan didn't ever think he would see on Jared's face. 

"So... This is what they called you into the office for yesterday?" 

"Yeah, yes, don't say anything to anyone about it Jared, I swear to god." His words come out rushed and wheezy, which makes him sound like he's panicking and he's not he's just kind of stressed that Jared is going to tell the whole school that Connor Murphy tried to kill himself and then Connor will do it again and maybe he will be successful this time. Jared heaves a sigh and rubs his eyes. 

"I'm not going to tell anyone, chill out. Did I tell anyone about _your_ sex letters?"

"Well, no, but-" the bell rings, cutting him off in the middle of his sentence, and Jared leaves him standing in the library. Alone. 

~~~~

He's trying to buy his lunch when it happens. Zoe Murphy gets in line behind him, and taps him on the shoulder. He turns, surprised that she would want to talk to him. 

"Oh, uh. Um. Hey?" he says. His hands start sweating and he knows he's already messed this up. Zoe Murphy is beautiful. She's beautiful when she's happy, when she's sad, when she's angry- and right now, she looks _pissed_. 

"Why is my brother writing suicide notes to you?" she asks, voice clipped. Evan feels blood rush to his face. The tray in his hands shakes. This is the girl Evan has been madly in love with for three years, and this is one of the only conversations they've ever had, which is just his luck. God. He feels like he's going to throw up or something, but there's not really anything in his stomach to throw up so it would just be stomach acid which would be horrible and it would probably stain the floor forever so every time someone walked by that exact place in the lunch line they would know that Evan Hansen threw up there because he had a conversation with Zoe Murphy. 

"I, um. I guess he. I guess he didn't have anyone else to write to?" This is possibly the worst thing that has ever happened to him. His heart races. What does that even mean, 'I guess he didn't have anyone else to write to?’ He had his whole family to write to. _What the hell, Evan, nice one_. 

"He didn't even know you!" Is she going to cry? If Zoe cries, Evan will definitely cry, which will just make this whole interaction even more humiliating. Evan can feel the eyes of the entire school on them, he's sure. 

"Maybe he wanted to?" Evan reaches the cashier and hurriedly pulls out his wallet. His hands shake as he passes the money to the cashier and tells her to keep the change. Zoe huffs and pushes past him, rushing out of the cafeteria in a flurry of blue streaked hair and ratty old converse. She'll probably never like him now. 

~~~~

During study hall, his knee is bouncing hard enough to shake his desk. He really, _really_ messed up with Zoe at lunch. Jared made fun of him relentlessly. Now he's ten minutes into an hour long study hall and he's so restless he could run laps and jump up and down. He hasn't seen Connor since this morning, but he knows they share two classes- English and study hall. So that's probably part of his problem. He thinks about taking a Xanax, but he hasn't had trouble breathing yet so he decides against it. Someone stomps up to the front of the room, presumably to talk to their teacher about something, and it irks Evan that they had to walk so loudly. He had just been getting back into his homework. 

 

"Sorry I'm late," they say, and it's _Connor_. "I had to pick up my assignments." Their teacher mumbles something and Evan is reminded of Charlie Brown. He releases a breath he hasn't realized he was holding as Connor walks back toward him. Stopping beside Evan's desk, he slaps down a piece of paper, chipped black nail polish stark against his sickly pale skin. Evan jumps and looks up, but Connor is sliding into his desk, three rows behind him. 

_Dear Evan Hansen,_  
 _Today is going to be a shitty day and here's why: I fuck everything up, I have a week's worth of schoolwork to catch up on, my sister's pissed at me, and my parents think you hung the moon. They want you to come over for dinner. So. Please do that. And stop looking for me. There's nothing left to be found._   
_Sincerely, me._

He pulls out his laptop, breathing heavily. The only time Evan ever gets invited to anything is when Jared needs a plus one for whatever event his parents are dragging him to at the Jewish community center. First, he opens Facebook and searches for Connor Murphy, just. Just because. And when he finds him he sends him a friend request and Connor immediately friends him back and Evan can feel eyes on the back of his neck. Next, he opens his email and starts writing. 

_Dear Connor Murphy,_  
 _Today is going to be a good day and here's why: you only have to get through one more class. The bee populations are finally starting to come back. I'll come to dinner. And I think there's still plenty of you left, so don't tell me to stop looking._   
_Sincerely, me._

He hits send and regrets it as soon as he does, but you can't unsend an email and now he has to live with the fact that he completely embarrassed himself over the internet once again. So. He clicks back over to Facebook and scrolls through the dumb political things his grandma keeps posting until he realizes that Connor has updated his status. 

Connor Murphy: _any suggestions for getting through the day?_

In a snap, reckless decision, Evan comments on the update. 

Evan Hansen: _take deep breaths and go on walks._

And then feels really stupid because, _duh_ , Connor can't go on walks while he's at school. Immediate, heavy regret sits like a stone in his stomach. So that was useless advice. Behind him, someone scoffs. He's pretty sure it was Connor, which means he either read Evan's comment or his email and either way makes him feel dumb and useless and every awful word at once, because Evan is supposed to be helping him, not giving him advice he can't even take. 

 

"Mr. Murphy, this is quiet study time," their teacher chides, looking up from his book. 

 

"Sorry, sir," Connor calls, but there's laughter in his voice and Evan feels a little less stupid. He checks his email, and there's a new one from Connor. 

_Dear Evan Hansen,_  
 _Are you really sure you want to come to dinner? It could get messy. I should warn you that my dad gets a bit fired up about certain things, and his biggest issue lately is me. So. Actually never mind, you don't have to come. Sorry._   
_Sincerely, me._

Evan takes a deep breath and writes back as quickly as he can. 

_Dear Connor Murphy,_  
 _I am still coming to dinner. It sounds like you need a lifeboat. I mean, if you really don't want me there I won't come. I totally understand if you don't want me to come over. But it kind of doesn't sound like home is a great place for you so unless you seriously, 100% don't want somebody else there with you, I'm still coming. Sorry._   
_Sincerely, me._

He sends the email and clicks back over to Facebook, where he finds a message from Jared. 

Jared Kleinman: _am i driving you home today, or are you going with your boyfriend?_

Evan rolls his eyes. At least Jared isn't being all weird and serious anymore. That was kind of awful. 

Evan Hansen: _i think im going home with connor today. idk. its been a weird day._

The bell rings, and his last class is English. Which is going to be extra weird because he has it with Jared _and_ Connor. He tries to hurry there, but something keeps him from rushing out of the room. He packs his bag and slides out from his desk, and Connor is also sliding out of his desk, long legs unfolding. He tugs at the sleeves of his sweatshirt and sighs heavily, slinging his bag across his chest and pausing when he notices Evan loitering. 

 

"Um. English?" Evan says, and Connor looks at him like he's an alien. He's going to throw up. What is it about the Murphys that turns him inside out? "Do you um. Do you. Do you want to walk to English?" 

 

"Oh." Is the surprise in Connor's voice good or bad? He feels his hands start sweating again, and he wipes them on his pants. "I guess. Sure." 

 

"Okay, cool. Sorry," He picks up his bag and starts toward the door. "I just. I wasn't sure if you would want to but I asked anyway and it was probably really dumb, sorry." 

 

"What are you apologizing for?" He walks side by side with Evan, gripping the strap of his messenger bag with bright white knuckles. Maybe Connor is as clueless about this kind of thing as Evan is. 

 

"I don't know, sorry," he says, twisting the hem of his shirt. 

 

"Stop saying sorry if you have nothing to be sorry for," Connor says. He tugs at his sleeves and goes quiet. They walk in silence until they reach the English room, where Jared descends upon them like a vulture. Evan shoots him a hard look before he can say anything dumb but Jared holds up his hands like a peace offering and Evan kind of has to take it. 

 

"Murphy," Jared says, nodding at him. 

 

"Kleinman," Connor replies coolly, and the tension is gone before it can fully develop. Jared slaps him on the shoulder like a proud father as he shuffles to his seat.

Evan glares at him, hissing, "What the hell, man," and Jared grimaces, a panicked shrug rolling from his shoulders. Connor, for his part, doesn't seem to be affected. He's hunched over his desk, which seems pretty normal for him, so Evan doesn't really worry about it. Except. Maybe he should worry about it? Their teacher is kind of a hippie and doesn't believe in assigned seating so Evan (and Jared, by extension) sit closer to Connor than normal, but he's a little bit stressed about Connor which is probably dumb, but he is honestly a little bit stressed about everything so. Whatever. Connor is picking at his nail polish in a nervous, don't-talk-to-me way, which makes Evan feel weird for sitting by him, but class is starting so he can't really think about how weird he's being. He pulls out his laptop to take notes and Connor does too, so he opens Facebook and his email just in case. Their teacher starts talking about symbolism and rhetorical language in some book Evan hasn't even started yet, and suddenly all he can think about is dinner with Connor. And how Connor tried to kill himself. And how Connor's family (particularly his dad) seem kind of like they aren't handling it well. And Evan can't handle anything well, so how is he going to handle Connor's family not handling things well? He can hear Connor bouncing his leg and he guesses that he must be thinking along the same lines as Evan. He's sweating so badly by now he's certain there are great dark halos around his armpits, but he discreetly checks and he can't really tell either way. 

The hour passes too quickly and Evan hasn't really been able to think through things so now he's even more anxious and he realizes as he's picking his bag up for the day that Connor and Jared are waiting for him which is extra confusing. They're kind of staring each other down, but in a mellow way, and when Evan turns to leave he catches Jared mumbling, "After you." to Connor. Hives are definitely going to erupt all over his body, it's just a matter of time. The floor is almost blindingly white and it's making him a little sick, but if he looks up he'll probably have to make eye contact with someone, and that never goes well, so he kind of just watches the lower middle section of wall as he rushes to his locker. Once he reaches it, he sort of leans inside and pretends to be looking for something but he's really just trying to calm down because _shit, Connor Murphy tried to kill himself and shit, he's going home with Connor Murphy and shit, he has to eat dinner with Connor Murphy's family_. He tries to take a deep breath but can't quite inhale all the way so it gets stuck somewhere between his mouth and lungs and air shouldn't feel sharp, right, but it does and he's certain that whatever oxygen he managed to suck down is just cutting through his esophagus. His phone buzzes in his backpack and he knows he should check it but he can't without getting out of his locker. So. He tries to breathe right but it's not working and he should probably be taking a Xanax now so he fumbles for the little bag in his pocket. The plastic baggie is shaking in his hands and he's definitely going to pass out and spill his medicine everywhere which just freaks him out even more and he _really_ needs to take a pill. Jesus Christ, if he spills the bag everything will roll all around the hallway and every single person will decide that he's a drug dealer and tell the principal, and he'll get kicked out and have to go to prison where he'll immediately become someone's punching bag, and his mom will have to sell the car and the house and stop going to class and pick up extra shifts because she'll need to hire really expensive lawyers to get him out of prison and explain to the whole school and also the Supreme Court that no, he's not a drug dealer, he's just a supremely anxious fuck up of a kid who can't keep his hands still long enough to take his meds. So. With jittery fingers he reaches into the bag and pinches a pill out, swallowing it and almost choking because Connor leans against the locker next to his. He startles, coughing around the lump in his throat, and Connor looks a little weirded out. 

"Sorry," Evan says, and tries again to take a deep breath. God. His hands are sweating. Connor glances down at the plastic baggie and up again at Evan's face. "It's just- I have to um. I have to take Xanax sometimes?" 

 

"You're okay, right? I mean, you're not going to, like, pass out or anything?" Evan shakes his head and he looks a little relieved. "So. About dinner." Evan's heart drops into his stomach. "We should probably get coffee or something first if we want it to go smoothly. My parents think you're like, mentoring me out of my moods or something, so I kind of need you to pretend to be my friend for awhile? At least until I can get my shit sorted out?" What the hell does that mean, 'at least until I can get my shit sorted out?’ It probably doesn't even mean anything but it still tugs at something in Evan's chest. 

 

"Yeah, yes, okay. Cool."

 

"Great."

 

"Awesome."

Which is how he ends up walking to the local cafe with Connor Murphy. And getting coffee (tea) with Connor Murphy. And being (pretend) friends with Connor Murphy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> here's chapter 2!


	3. I don't want the world to see me

Coffee goes relatively well, considering they barely know one another. Evan trips over his order and Connor ends up having to repeat it back to the cashier because after the third try she looks at Connor and asks, "Is he, like, _slow_ , or something?" Which, okay, is embarrassing and offensive. Thankfully, Connor takes control of the situation and it's over almost as soon as it started, but he pointedly refuses to put a tip in the jar and Evan probably would have still tipped her. 

Then they have to wait for their drinks and Connor looks miserable and Evan doesn't know what to do or say so he kind of just bumps his arm and then says, "Sorry, sorry." 

Connor sort of glares at him and snaps, "Stop" before going to collect their drinks. He's definitely going to explode. Connor hands him his tea and finds a secluded table for them without asking Evan if he wanted to stay or leave or anything. So. He's stuck. And Connor still really freaks Evan out, because as much as he wants to not believe what everyone says about him, it's really difficult when Connor marches around school looking so angry all the time. 

"What do I. Um. How- how much do I owe you?" 

"What?" Connor looks like he's going to be sick. His face has gone ghostly pale and his blue eyes are clouded, exhausted. 

"How much do I. Um. Owe you? For the tea?" He feels so dumb, but he figures it would be really rude to not pay for his drink. 

"Oh. Uh, nothing. You can buy next time," Connor says, picking at his nail polish. Little black flakes rain down onto the table. _Next time?_ Should he be happy or worried about that? His brain tends to automatically click over to worried for him so he doesn't really get a choice. "Anyway, I know that this whole situation is really. Um. Really fucked up? So I get it if you don't want to hang out with me or whatever, and obviously we don't have to really be friends. I don't want to, like, ruin your reputation or anything. But. Um. It would probably make my family calm down a little if they thought I actually had a friend, I guess." 

"Yeah, no, of course. I. I get it. My mom, she. She's always so worried, you know, about me? And I feel so guiltyallthetime because obviously it's my fault that she's worried. Like, if I wasn't so fucked- so messed up, she wouldn't have to work so hard to keep us alive." Jesus Christ, he really needs to learn to keep his mouth shut. Spilling his guts to someone he's only ever had two, maybe three conversations with? Real smooth. But Connor kind of just. Nods. Like _yeah, cool, we're on the same page_. He takes a drink of his coffee. Time feels like it's going too slowly and Evan really needs to pee, but he doesn't want to get up from the table because that would just be so awkward and Connor would probably think he was deserting him, which he wasn't, he just really needed to use the bathroom. So he gets up to use the bathroom and manages to squeak "I'mjustgoingtothebathroomokay!"

When he gets back, Connor is staring at his hands and it's kind of unnerving and Evan doesn't even know why it's freaking him out but he's going to overthink it anyway so he comes up with a list of reasons Connor could be staring at his hands. 

1.) Connor just has really interesting hands.   
2.) Connor is actually super bored and is regretting asking Evan to get coffee and be his pretend friend.   
3.) Connor is trying to figure out conversation points.   
4.) Connor is secretly super religious and is praying right now.   
5.) Connor is having a seizure.   
6.) Connor is trying to keep himself from barfing everywhere so he has to keep his eyes steady or else he'll get, like, spontaneous motion sickness.   
7.) Connor is just kind of sad and pensive and all that.   
8.) Connor is trying to figure out how to kill himself successfully. 

None of those options sound very good. Now Evan can't stop thinking about Connor dying and finding his body or something and how if he overdosed on pills he would really just choke to death on his own puke which would be really horrible and it would be so gross to find his body if that happened because then he would just smell like puke and he would have to be buried smelling like puke and everyone who went to his funeral would have to carry around a little barf bag in case the smell made them sick too. If anyone even went to his funeral. Shit. What happens if nobody goes to your funeral? 

"Yourenotplanningontryingtokillyourselfagainareyou?" Evan blurts, and slaps a hand over his mouth as soon as it's out. Connor's head snaps up at him, like he's startled, and there's a crease between his eyebrows that Evan wants to rub away. "Sorry! Sorry, sorry!"

"That's kind of a loaded question," Connor replies, and the corner of his mouth twitches up like it's trying to smile, but he won't let it. 

"It was kind of the dumbest thing I've ever said."

"Chill out, man," Connor huffs, and the awkward, uncomfortable moment is over. Evan gulps down half of his tea before it can cool off which was really stupid because now his throat burns and Connor is probably going to think he's gone mute or something. God. Evan wipes his hands on his jeans because he is sweating _so much_ and it's really disgusting, honestly, and he can't handle it. "You wear a lot of blue, you know that?"

"Uh, yeah. It's, um, my favorite color."

"Why?" Blue is such a cliched favorite color, what the hell, he hadn't even realized until right now. 

"It's calming, I guess," he says, and regrets it as soon as it's out of his mouth because that's the factory produced, mass manufactured answer that everyone gives when blue is their favorite color. Briefly, he wonders why Connor is even asking. "But there's this, this flower that my mom used to plant called, um, Brunnera? And I really loved the flowers when I was little, but she. She stopped planting them. They were blue." He doesn't mention that she stopped planting them after his dad left. Or that she had torn them from the flower bed and tossed them into the Green Waste Only bin in the alley behind their house. Or that he had cried when she did, and tried to pick the flowers out of the dirt and grass until the streetlights came on. Connor's fingers twitch on the table, like they're itching to move, but he leaves both hands flat, palm down in front of him. He looks a little bit vacant, but he smiles in a way that doesn't quite reach his eyes anyway. 

"That's cool. That you actually have a reason for having a favorite color," Connor says. "It sucks that she stopped planting them." 

"Yeah," Evan agrees, feeling a little reckless and a little thrilled. "It does." They chat idly for a while, and Evan manages to stop thinking about death for a few minutes. 

It's not until they're leaving the coffee shop that he realizes Connor never answered his question. 

~~~~

"So your mom really doesn't care if you have dinner with us tonight?" Connor asks for the third time. Evan can't blame him- he's sure that if he felt as bad as Connor looked, he would be double and triple checking, too. 

"Not really," he says. "Um. As long as I. As long as I eat."

Connor nods, hair swinging in front of his face. "Okay, good. My mom is like, way too excited about this. She made me promise to keep asking until you agreed to come. I didn't really want to disappoint her, you know?"

"Yeah, um, I do." Disappointing his mom is practically his greatest fear. Connor slows down as they approach what Evan assumes is his house. He tugs at his sleeves. Eyes the driveway apprehensively. 

"Fuck," he sighs, and doesn't quite freeze on the sidewalk, but takes a stuttering step. "Fuck."

"What's... what's up?" How could a car in the driveway be so upsetting? If at all possible, Connor looks worse than before. Evan has seen this expression on his own face thousands of times, when he's opening the medicine cabinet to pop a Xanax. Connor wears it more angrily, but it's still the same- anxious, restless. Searching, not for answers but for the next breath. 

"My dad came home early," Connor says, and Evan can feel the anger rolling off of him. _At least you have a dad_ , he thinks, but feels so guilty about it that he redacts it from his own head. Connor yanks the storm door open and it wobbles on its hinges. Mrs. Murphy is standing in the kitchen, back to the boys, so Connor just says, "We're home" and thumps up the steps, presumably to his room. So. Evan follows. The hallway is lined with pictures of their family, and Evan finds one of Connor with his arms around Zoe, each of them smiling brighter than the sun. _What happened?_ Evan wants so badly to ask. _What happened to make these smiles disappear?_ The picture can't be more than three years old. Evan can hear music playing, and he guesses it's coming from Zoe's room. He knows that she is in jazz band, distinctly remembers Jared dragging him to one of the concerts once because "This is your time to shine, Evan. Probably the only chance you'll ever have to confess your undying love to her." And Evan had promptly gone to the bathroom to have a panic attack. And then he was so worried that his hands were sweaty that he couldn't go back into the gym and his hands weren't even sweaty at all but as soon as he started thinking about it they were like, _drenched_. It was awful. Connor stops suddenly. He looks kind of apprehensive, but he goes into the room anyway. Evan follows. There's no door, just an empty frame opening into what Evan can only assume is his bedroom. It's painted gray, and shockingly enough, there aren't posters or photos or anything on the walls. It's like, purposely bare, like someone had gone through and taken out everything that made the room personal. 

"Before you say anything, my room sucks. Like. It's shitty. Supremely shitty. So don't even bother trying to be polite about it, okay, because I'll know you're lying through your teeth." Evan has to literally, physically bite his tongue to keep from asking why the room is so impersonal. If Connor hates it so much, why doesn't he do anything to change it?  
The whole house seems to have hard wood floors, even Connor's bedroom, and Evan can't begin to imagine how expensive that must have been. There isn't even a rug on the floor, just dark, dark wood. Surely it gets cold at night. The room smells like bleach, which is horrible, how can someone even sleep in a room that smells like bleach? As far as Evan could tell, the rest of the house didn't smell like bleach, so. Why the hell does Connor's room?

"What happened to the door?" Evan asks, probably really stupidly. He's sure Connor thinks he's being nosy or something, and he feels sort of horrible about even asking. 

"My dad took it, after," he pauses, takes a great deep breath. "After Zoe found me. Last week."  
"Shit, right, sorry," Evan curses. Could he possibly be any more insensitive? Connor throws his bag up onto the desk, muttering "Stop fucking apologizing," before collapsing onto his bed in a heap. Evan doesn't want to be rude and just sit on the bed with him, but he feels weird sitting on the floor and he doesn't want to pull out the desk chair because that would take too long and he's positive Connor would hate him for just taking it without asking. So. He stands, hands clenched around the straps of his backpack. 

"What the fuck are you doing, Hansen? Sit down." Connor moves over on the bed, making room for Evan to flop down beside him. 

"Oh, um. Okay.” Evan sets his backpack on the floor gently, not wanting to make too much noise, and sits on the very edge of the bed. 

"If anybody walks past they're definitely going to know we're not actually friends," Connor grumbles. "Just. You don't have to be afraid of me, you know. I'm not going to bite." He sounds a little offended, a little hopeless. Evan braces himself for fucking something up and lays back, shoulder bumping against Connor's. Connor doesn't pull away, so at least Evan didn't screw up too horribly. They lay there for a while, shoulder to shoulder, and Evan notices constellations in glow paint on the ceiling. Green, sparkly glow paint. Details like these could be easily overlooked, but in a room so starved for personal touches, the stars feel important. They're the only indicator that this bedroom belongs to someone, that it's not a guest room, and they're almost... endearing? Connor must have been a space kid on top of being an art kid. "So. Zoe, huh?"

"What?" To be honest, Evan hasn't really thought about Zoe that way since the first week of school. He is definitely still crushing hard on her, but his hormones have calmed down and- and what? He tries to think about Zoe, but nothing really happens. His heart used to speed up, his hands would automatically get sweaty- but now, nothing. Next to him, Connor is tracing patterns onto the blanket. Evan notices his hand is shaking. 

"You like my sister," Connor says, matter-of-factly, no question about it. How can he be so sure of himself? Of anything?

"Oh, yeah, sure." Could he possibly mess things up more than he already had? Certainly Connor thinks he's a complete weirdo, now. Evan can't even answer a simple yes or no question without freaking out. 

"'Sure'? That's not very convincing at all."

"Do you. Do you want me to like her?" Connor's hand stills on the mattress. 

"Fuck, Evan, I don't _care_. In your letter, you sounded like you really liked her and now you're being weird about it."

"I. Uh. I do, um, like her. I do," Evan insists. Why is he insisting? He sounds so fake, he's absolutely positive about it, but why is he trying to convince Connor he's in love with Zoe, anyway? 

"Good."

"Great."

"Awesome." Connor doesn't sound too thrilled, but then again, does he ever sound thrilled? Evan's phone buzzes in his pocket. 

\---> Jared Kleinman 5:07 PM: _how's it going w/ ur boy?_  
\---> Evan Hansen 5:08 PM: _hes not my boy stop calling him that_  
\---> Jared Kleinman 5:08 PM: _you guys aren't like making a suicide pact or anything right because I'll kill you if you are_  
\---> Evan Hansen 5:08 PM: _we are not making a suicide pact jared what the hell_  
\---> Jared Kleinman 5:09 PM: _fr though is he good?_  
\---> Evan Hansen 5:09 PM: _i think so. i'll call you when i get home._

Evan slides his phone back into his pocket. Beside him, Connor is pulling a loose thread from his blanket.   
"Are you okay?" Evan asks softly, but feels really dumb because of course he's not okay, he just tried to kill himself. God. 

"Why do you care? This is pretend," Connor mumbles.   
_It doesn't have to be,_ Evan thinks. _It doesn't have to be pretend. We could really be friends, if you wanted._

"You are really... you're really good at. Um. Evading questions."

"You're really good at being fucking annoying," Connor says, but it lacks the venom that Evan expects from him. It's really tempting to grab Connor's hand or something, which is totally gay and since when has Evan ever had gay thoughts? The only man in his life that he had ever held hands with was his dad and. And, well. Clearly that didn't work out. But there's something behind Connor's eyes that just kills Evan a little bit, makes his chest hurt in an unfamiliar way. Miserable doesn't do the expression justice. He presses his luck and hooks his pinky with Connor's, who immediately grips back, and Evan notices that his hand is scary-cold. Connor takes a deep, shivery breath, and they stay like that until Mrs. Murphy calls them down to dinner. 

"Connor, aren't you going to introduce us?" Mrs. Murphy asks as the five of them settle in around the dining room table. 

Connor rolls his eyes but grudgingly says, "This is Evan, he's my..." he gestures broadly, as if searching for a word. "Whatever, which you guys already know. So. Evan, this is Mom," points to his mother, who has red hair and an eager, loving smile, "Dad," points to his father, who looks stern and aloof and exactly the kind of person Connor would hate, "and Zoe. But you know her from school, so." And that's over with. Zoe scowls in a way that says she knows what's going on, and Evan gets a sinking feeling that this is all going to go terribly wrong. Next to him, Connor is giving non-committal answers to his mother's questions about his day. 

"So, Evan, what do you plan on doing after high school?" Mr. Murphy asks as Evan pushes a green bean around his plate. According to Connor, Mrs. Murphy is on some kind of gluten-free-organic-fair-trade kick which, in his words, ‘May be good for the environment, but not for your stomach.’

"Oh, I um. I plan on, on studying botany and conservation at the. At the state university?" Mr. Murphy's eyebrows shoot up to his hairline at this. "My mom and I, um. We don't- we're not, like, _rich_. Or- or anything. But she heard about these, these scholarship essays on NPR a few weeks ago, so. We're looking into those." 

"I see," Mr. Murphy says. Connor has stopped talking to his mother in favor of staring daggers at his dad. Evan scratches at his elbow, above his cast, suddenly uncomfortable. Not that he wasn't already horrifically uncomfortable- really, he had been the whole time. He just. Became aware of it. He's definitely calling attention to his stupid, annoying broken arm and his stupid, annoying plaster cast. "And what are you going to apply your degree to, after school?" Evan starts to tell him about becoming a conservation agent, _tries_ to tell him, but his arm gets in the way. "What on earth happened to your arm?" and it's kind of surprised and dumb and Evan doesn't know why but it really gets under his skin that Mr. Murphy sounds absolutely fine with asking him something so personal. 

"Dad-" Connor starts, alarmed. Angry. Immediately, the room tenses. Evan looks around, but everyone is just watching Connor warily, like they're waiting for something. Waiting for him to explode. Hurriedly, he decides which version of the story to tell the Murphys, and begins to stutter through it. 

"I worked at, at Ellison park over the summer?" Evan says, and hates that it comes out as a question. The tension begins to dissipate. Mrs. Murphy nods encouragingly, so he continues. "And. And I was, um, I was climbing this tree, and I. I fell."

"Saddest fucking thing I've ever heard," Connor mumbles under his breath, quiet enough that only Evan can hear. 

"You fell out of a tree?" Mrs. Murphy asks, surprised but not cruel. 

"Yeah, yes, I know it sounds really dumb," Evan says, wincing at his own false cheeriness. "But the worst part- the funniest part, really, it was funny- is that I had to, to wait for, like, forever, for someone to come get me. I was just. I was just laying there. Like anytime now, they're going to find me. It is so funny, looking back on it." 

"That's kind of awful," Zoe says, and her parents each shoot her a look. "It is! He fell out of a tree and nobody was paying enough attention to even know he did it!" Next to him, Connor chokes on his water, nearly spitting it across the table. This is getting way out of hand. What a mess. 

"That's real funny, Zo," he says. "Great joke."

"What?" Zoe snaps. She looks furious. Connor tugs at his sleeves and squares his jaw, but keeps his mouth shut. The tension in the air is heavier than the lead apron they put over you at the dentist's office before they X-ray your teeth. 

"Anyway," Evan tries to redirect. To jump past this. "It wasn't, um, a bad break or anything. I'm getting my cast off soon."

"I signed it," Connor points out, and Evan holds up his arm for the Murphys to see. CONNOR, in big black letters, scrawled across his lonely, otherwise blank cast. Connor sounds so... so volatile, explosive. “So people would see, you know, that we’re _not_ complete losers.” The look he's giving his dad tells Evan that Mr. Murphy had, like, called Connor a loser before and that bothers him more than the whole ‘How did you break your arm’ thing. A pregnant, itchy silence falls over them. Evan can feel his tongue in his mouth which is super awful because who is ever aware of their tongue? That is so weird. Connor must be saying something because Evan can hear the distant buzz of conversation but he really can't focus on it and certainly this whole thing was his fault. Connor's leg is bouncing so hard beneath the table that Evan can see the silverware vibrating. 

"Connor, calm down," Mrs. Murphy says, voice pleading. Evan can feel his breath start to evade him. Next to him, Connor is tense, clenching and unclenching his hands. Zoe hasn't said a word, but her eyes dart between Mr. Murphy and Connor frantically. Evan can't take a deep breath, his chest is too tight, he's going to die. Definitely. Definitely going to die. 

"Really mom, like telling me to calm down is going to make me calm down? Wow, look, I'm so calm now!" 

"You have a guest with you, Connor, you're embarrassing yourself," Mr. Murphy says. Eyes sharp, searching Connor, like he's trying to pick apart his flaws. Anxiety seeps down Evan's throat like the humid August air, oppressive and heavy. This is definitely his fault. No doubt about it, he caused this whole mess. 

"Am I embarrassing myself or am I embarrassing you?" Connor's voice shakes and Evan can't really tell if it's because he's going to laugh or cry. "Because from where I stand, Dad, you're the one who looks fucking flustered. And why the _fuck_ are you interrogating Evan?"

"That's it," Mr. Murphy says, standing. "Go upstairs. I cannot believe, after everything you've put this family through, that's you're going to sit here and throw another tantrum. You're acting like a child."

"Oh, right, just another one of my temper tantrums," Connor says, but it's so calm and, and _broken_ that Evan is almost more worried now than when he was yelling. Connor stands and grabs for Evan's arm, pulling him up, too. "Come on." It's not until they're up the stairs and halfway down the hall that Connor drops his arm. He hears Zoe saying, "Nice going, Dad!" and Mrs. Murphy speaking in worried, gentle tones. They reach the bedroom and Connor moves as if to slam the door but his hand closes around air where there should be wood and for a second he looks almost confused. It's maybe the saddest thing Evan has ever seen. His heart jumps erratically behind his ribs, he's sure the whole neighborhood can hear it. On reflex, his fingers find the hem of his shirt and start their nervous samba with it. Connor's shoulders are heaving and he has a shaking hand pressed against his face. "Jesus Christ, would you stop _looking_ at me like that? I'm not some monster you can just stare at like a caged animal," he snarls, but his voice cracks and Evan feels so bad. He's going to die at Connor Murphy's house. He's going to die in Connor Murphy's bedroom. 

"I don't, um. You're- you're really not a monster," Evan tries, but it comes out sounding tinny in his own ears so he sits down on the bed to try to catch his breath but it's not working and. "Sorry, um. Sorry. I just. I just need a second. Sorry." Trying to breath deeply only makes his chest ache more, so he settles on just. Not breathing. His eyes pinch themselves so tightly shut that he knows they will hurt later. He can hear Connor stomping around, sighing heavily, and he feels even worse because Connor clearly needs someone to talk to right now and Evan can't keep it together long enough to form a coherent sentence. Why can't he get his chest to slow down?

"What the fuck are you-" It's such a surprise to hear Connor's voice that he nearly jumps out of his skin. "Are you okay?" Evan shakes his head, no, and tries so hard to think of something calming. Trees. He needs trees. Instead, he winds up thinking about Ellison State Park, the exact opposite of something calming, and all he can think of is falling out of that tree and why why why why did Mr. Murphy even bring it up? "Shit. Fuck. What do I do?"

"You- you can't really, um. You can't. Do anything." He tries to clear his throat. Tries to stop existing. The next breath he takes comes as a wheezing gasp and now Connor is going to think he's crazy-nuts, right? God. What a mess. He grips at his shoulders, arms crossed over his chest, and he's sure that he'll have bruises where his fingers are digging in too hard. The bed sinks and he knows Connor is next to him. He seems genuinely worried, which freaks Evan out even more because Connor insists that they're pretend friends and pretend friends don't really worry about each other or whatever, right? And then. And then Connor takes Evan's hand and drags it off of his shoulder and places it above his heart so Evan can feel the steady rhythm thrumming beneath his fingers and it's the most desperate, soft thing. Connor presses Evan's hand into his chest and slowly, Evan's own pulse steadies until it's manageable. "Thank you," he breathes into the air they're sharing- they are so, so close. "Thank you."

Evan goes home soon after that. It's just. Too much to be around. Connor seems kind of freaked about the whole thing and honestly so is Evan. He checks his phone on the way home and notices several missed messages from his mom. 

\---> Mom 2:58 PM: _Hi honey, just checking in. How's it going with Connor?_  
\---> Mom 3:05 PM: _Evan, I'm so sorry, Erica asked me to cover her shift for her tonight. I left money on the counter for pizza._   
\---> Mom 6:07 PM: _Did you order pizza? I haven't heard from you all day, please respond._   
\---> Evan 6:15 PM: _hey mom, sorry i havent responded. im fine, i had dinner with the murphys._

Unlocking the front door is a pain in the ass. He has to jiggle the key because the lock is older than him and sticks when it gets hot out. Then he has to lift the door a little by the handle to push it open because the hinges are crooked and it gets jammed if you just push it straight in. So. It's kind of an ordeal to get into the house. Plus, he can't stop thinking about Connor Murphy's heart hammering beneath his fingers and the desperate way he had held Evan's hand there, which doesn't make anything easier at all. Once he's inside, he clambers up the steps to his room so he can call Jared without feeling gross and on display. It's shouldn't make him feel weird to call someone from the living room but it does so he never calls anyone from the living room ever and he's positive that it freaks his mom out but she never says anything about it so he just keeps making calls from his room and it's not like he makes that many calls anyway it is just easier from his room and. He forces a deep breath. Dialing Jared's number is absolutely more nerve wracking than it should be, but he does it anyway and picks at the hem of his shirt as he waits for Jared to pick up. 

"What the fuck is up, my man?" Jared says on the third ring.

"Nothing, um nothing much!" He's far too enthusiastic and he's certain Jared can tell. Why had he even called in the first place? Surely he hadn't planned on telling Jared about the panic attack or how real Connor had been lying shoulder to shoulder on his bed-

"Are you ever planning on filling me in on the Connor Murphy situation or...?"

"Oh, shit, yeah," Evan curses, pulling off his shoes and nearly dropping his phone. "Shit. Okay. So, you like- you read the notes. You, you get what happened?"

"Yeah, psycho tried to kill himself, got that," Jared says, and Evan can hear the clattering of a game controller through the phone. "Fuck! Sorry, dude, just died. Gimme a sec."

"He's not a psycho. Are you playing Call of Duty?" 

"Yeah, I told you to hold on!" It's silent for a beat. "Okay, I paused it. Anyway, what's up?"

"Don't call Connor a, a psycho, please? I just. I just need you to, to, to take this seriously?" He scratches his elbow, just above the cast. God, when had that become a nervous tick?

"Jesus, Evan, it was a joke. Just trying to lighten the mood, my man." 

"Yeah, well, you're not helping!"

"Hey, calm down, okay? Take a deep breath. I won't make any more psycho jokes about your boyfriend. Happy?" Evan can practically hear him cross his arms the way he does- it's something Jared picked up from his mother. 

"Fine. Fine. But you have to- you can't tell anyone about this, Jared. You can't, you really can't, he's not in a great place right now and. And, and I know people, um, people hate him so if you told someone they would definitely pick- they would definitely mess with Connor and it would be all my fault and he would try to kill himself again and it would- it would- itwouldbesohorrible," he says, all in one breath. 

"We've already been over this, Evan, I'm not going to tell anyone. My lips are sealed."

"Okay. Okay, good. Okay," he paces in front of his window. "My mom and, and everyone, really, think that I'm. They think that I'm, like, Connor's best friend? Or that he like, he chose me, or something, which. Why would anyone choose me? But. Because of the, the um, the note?"

"Understandable," Jared replies, and Evan feels a little bit better. At least he isn't making dumb jokes now.

"Yeah, well, now we're pretending to be friends because everyone already, like, thinks we are, and. And it's kind of weird. And it's stressing me out. Because I. I kind of. I um."

"Want to get in his pants, I'm aware," Jared says, blasé as ever. "All jokes aside, what's the big deal? It's a win-win for everyone! You get closer to Zoe, he gets a fake friend to use as an excuse to get out of the house and get high, I get another reason to make fun of you!" 

"Jared, come on," he bites at a hangnail. "I don't. I don't want to get in his pants. Or Zoe's, for that matter. I think. I don't know. It's confusing."

"Holy shit, Evan, you're not into Zoe anymore?" Jared sounds genuinely surprised. "That's, like, groundbreaking."

"You're more shocked about this than Connor Murphy trying to kill himself!"

"I could have seen that one coming, man," Jared sighs. "It's the hair. Dead giveaway."

"What the hell, Jared?" He heaves a sigh. "Anyway. Just don't. Don't, like, make fun of him anymore, okay? Like, at school? And, and if you want. You could. You could, maybe, if you want to, like, be nice to him?"

"Yeah, duh, being nicer is a given," Jared says. Evan sits on his bed. "Especially if you're going to be hanging out with him all the time. There's absolutely no way I could stand being around him if all he did was glare at me like he wanted to throw a printer-"

"That was one time-"

"Joking, Evan, Jesus!"

"You have to cut it out," Evan says, but it comes out as more of a squeak. "Seriously, Jared."

"Okay, okay, I won't have fun any more," Jared sighs. "So. How are you, like, handling things?"

"Oh," Evan says, surprised. For a family friend, Jared sounds awfully concerned. "I. I'm. I'm holding up. I just keep, like, thinking. That. That he, he could be dead right now. And nobody really knew him. Everyone just, like, assumed that he was crazy."

"... I should apologize to him."

"Don't make it weird," Evan says. He pulls his laptop out, opening a new tab. "Just don't... just. Just stop being such a dick to him, okay?"

"Yeah, got it." Distantly, Evan hears Jared's mom calling. "Shit, dude, I gotta go. My mom's making me help her cook matzoh ball soup. I can bring a bowl over for you tomorrow, if you want?"

"Yeah, okay, thanks man. That's really... thoughtful."

"Sure, Evan, see you tomorrow." He hangs up. What the hell? Evan almost wonders if Jared is sick or something. That's the only explanation for what just happened, surely. Why else would Jared be so nice? He checks his email and sees a new one from Connor. 

_Dear Evan Hansen,_  
 _Thanks for coming to dinner. Sorry about my dad. He's a fucking prick. I understand if you don't want to come back now. I would appreciate it, though. It made things a little bit easier._   
_Sincerely, me._

He sounded off. Even through email, Evan could tell that something was wrong. His tone was clipped, less sarcastic than before. 

_Dear Connor Murphy,_  
 _No problem. Dinner was nice, don't apologize for your dad. It's not your fault that he was asking questions. I'm glad that I was able to make things easier on you._   
_Sincerely, me._

He sends the reply, feeling a little bit stupid for not having anything better to say. He wants to ask what's wrong, wants to know what is going on at home, but decides that maybe that is asking too much too fast. Clicking open Facebook, he sees he has friend requests from Alana Beck and Zoe Murphy, so he accepts them quickly before he can second guess himself. Also. He can't stop thinking about how nice Jared is being. It's super weird and super uncomfortable and if he's being honest, he wants things to go back to normal. Evan doesn't handle change well, and this is a _definite_ change. It makes him think that he did something to force Jared to act this way, and now he's going to be wondering what he did all night, but he's never going to ask Jared because that would definitely weird him out. Alana Beck messages him right away, something cheery and sweet, and Evan just doesn't have the energy to reply to her unrelenting optimism. It's kind of scary, sometimes, how spirited and involved she is. Evan honestly forgets that Zoe added him for a while and starts writing a paper for Environmental Science. Hopefully he'll get accepted into the state university and be able to take all the courses he needs to become a conservation agent, but in all probability he won't be accepted and he'll have to take night classes with his mom at the community college. Going to night classes with his mom probably wouldn't be so bad, but he's already looked into it and they don't offer the courses he needs in order to even apply for the conservation job. So. He really needs to get into the university. He also really needs to get scholarships, because there is no way in hell they can afford to send him to school without help, and student loans are almost out of the question. His Environmental Science paper practically writes itself, but the next time he looks at the clock it's 8:44 and he hasn't taken a break yet. Dr. Sherman told him that it wasn't healthy to fixate on one task like that because he got so sucked into completing it that he would start to neglect other needs, like stretching or eating or drinking or going to the bathroom. He gets really bad in the summer time, when no one is asking him to hang out because nobody wants to be around him and he's just sitting idly at home with nothing to do. So, he goes to the library and gets as many books as his arms can carry and spends hours upon hours reading. And it's really horrible and he always gets sick but at least it's something to do, right? So normally he has a timer set to go off after half an hour of homework, but he forgot to start it so it's been over two hours since he opened his paper. He hates that he gets like this, but sometimes there's nothing he can do about it. Anyway, what startles him out of his essay is the sudden notification of a Facebook message, garishly loud against the quiet of his bedroom. He clicks back over to Facebook and sees the message is from Zoe, and immediately his heart rate kicks up. Which. Okay, whatever, he thought he was over it. 

Zoe Murphy: _I want to apologize for how I acted at school today. I really appreciate you trying to be friends with my brother. I know he's a real pain in the ass. It was just really difficult to read his note and know that he wasn't talking to us, you know? It really hurt, actually. Also, thank you for coming to dinner. Believe it or not, it's usually worse than it was tonight. We're all grateful that Connor has someone to lean on right now._  
Evan Hansen: _oh haha don't worry about earlier I was really stressed too so it's definitely my fault that we got kind of hostile with each other. also I don't think that Connor is a pain in the ass at all. let me know if there is anything else I can do because I don't have anything going on after school ever so I'm totally free pretty much always._

He catches himself signing Sincerely, me, but deletes the line and sends his response. Holy shit, Zoe Murphy is Facebook messaging him. If Jared could see him now... well. His mom gets home at nine, and climbs the stairs to tell him goodnight before she goes back down to eat takeout and study. She knocks to let him know she's there but doesn't wait for him to answer before swinging his door open which sends him scrambling to shut his laptop so she can't see that he's been Facebook messaging Zoe Murphy. 

"Hey, honey," she says, smiling softly at him. She has bags under her eyes, lack of sleep clear in the lines on her face. "How's it going?"

"It's- I mean, it's definitely going," he replies, picking at the loose thread again. He doesn't know why, but guilt rushes through him. 

"How did it go with Connor?" 

"It was fine- good, I guess? He's kind of scary," he admits. Heidi sits down next to him on the bed, patting his leg. 

"It might be hard," she says. "But this is going to be good for you, Evan, and he needs someone right now." He wants so badly to ask, why me? But instead he just smiles and nods his head like _yep I get it sure mom 100% I can definitely be there for him_ and she gives him a big, firm hug and tells him goodnight. Tells him she's "So proud, honey, really!" Tells him to get some rest. He wants to say, _you too, mom_ , but the words get stuck in his throat as she walks out, closing his door softly behind her. He lies awake, watching the moon travel across the sky, until sleep takes pity on him and mercifully shuts his eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :')


	4. Who'd wanna live longer anyway?

Jared is being weird again. On Saturday afternoon he brings an enormous Tupperware container of soup over for Evan and his mom, complete with warming instructions. Secretly, Evan is grateful for the sheer quantity of food because it means he can go at least a week without guiltily ignoring his mom's money stuck to the fridge with a magnet. Evan is tempted to pull Jared aside and ask what the hell is going on, because it is so out of the ordinary for him to be pleasant at all.  


"So, I'll be going now," Jared says, almost hastily. "I'll see you Monday, Evan." He heads out of the kitchen, where the three of them had been gathered, and towards the front room. Evan follows close behind, trying desperately to think of something to say. "Bye-"

"Hey, wait," Evan starts impulsively. Jared stops, standing in the door. "Call me later, okay?" _What the hell?_ Why did he have to be so weird all the time? He never, ever asks anyone to call him, _ever._ He wipes his hands on his jeans. 

"Yeah, whatever man," Jared says, squinting at him. He chuckles incredulously. "You sound like my mom. Next thing you know you'll be married to a balding dentist and planning for a 401k."

"Hahaha," Evan manages weakly. Jared gives him a look, but doesn't say anything else as he leaves the house. The little blue Subaru Jared's parents bought him for his sixteenth birthday starts up with a jolt, and Evan watches as he peels out from the curb. It's bad enough that Jared willingly admits the only reason he hangs out with Evan is so his parents will pay his car insurance, but driving the damn thing over here was just too much. It makes Evan want to cry a little bit. He goes back to the kitchen. 

"Hey, honey," Heidi says, smiling at him. Again, he notices the exhaustion lining her face and is spiked with guilt. If he wasn't such a mess, his mother wouldn't have to work so hard. If he wasn't such a mess, his father wouldn't have left. If he wasn't such a mess, people would like him more, his mom would worry less, life would be easy. And. And despite knowing all of this, he was still a train wreck. An absolute human disaster. His cast itches, and he is filled once more with the familiar ache of hopelessness. Heidi is speaking, but he can't really focus on what she's saying. It's probably something about Erica at work- it's _always_ something about Erica at work. Or bills, could be about bills. Or him, and how much of a burden he is- that's definitely it. "... another appointment with Dr. Sherman."  
This gets his attention.

"Wait, what?"

"I made another appointment with Dr. Sherman for Tuesday, sweetie. With everything going on lately, you seemed like you might need to talk again." He wants so badly to say, _so talk to me_ , but he can't. She's never home, anyway, it's not like she even has the time to talk to him. Guilt pulses through him again. He should be more grateful.

"Oh, good. Thanks mom." He can't make himself sounds genuine, but Heidi gives him a watery smile. Yawning, she pours herself a cup of coffee and leans against the counter. 

"Want some?" she offers, holding the pot out to Evan. It stings that she doesn't know he can't drink it. 

"No thanks," he says, twisting the hem of his shirt. Even the smell of coffee can make his anxiety flare up. "I'm, um, going back to my room? I have- there's a paper I need to, to finish, so-" he's lying through his teeth. 

"Of course, honey, go ahead!" He turns to leave. Ignores the disappointment that flickers across her face. "I love you!" she calls after him. Secretly, Evan wishes she didn't. 

"Love you too, mom," he mumbles as he mounts the stairs. It's impossible to tell whether or not she heard him, but it's all he can muster right now.  
When he gets to his room, he can't stop thinking about the fact that he has a bedroom door to close and Connor Murphy doesn't. 

~~~~

Monday morning arrives too soon. He's not ready to go back to school. Briefly, he entertains the idea of telling his mom that he's sick and staying home, but he knows she would just worry about him all day at work so he forces himself to get dressed. Walking downstairs is more work than it should be. Any normal senior would be able to jump out of bed, throw on some clothes, and drive themselves to school, but Evan can barely manage to peel his blanket back. Heidi drives him to school, chattering about work. He gets there early most days because of her schedule. The computer lab is empty, which is a relief. He finds a computer tucked away in a corner where no one would be able to see what he was typing if they happened to walk in, and begins his letter. 

_Dear Evan Hansen,_  
_Today is going to be a good day, and here's why; you haven't gotten crazy anxious yet. Not that you should get crazy anxious from just walking into school, but sometimes you do and it's really frustrating because then you have to do those dumb belly breathing exercises Dr. Sherman is always talking about. Anyway. Jared is being nice, which is a change. You have a new friend, kind of. Just try to keep it together._  
_Sincerely, me._

He sends his letter to the printer and goes to stand up, but is startled back into sitting by Connor Murphy, who is standing behind him, clutching the strap of his messenger bag.  
"Shit," Connor curses, taking a hesitant step towards him. "Fuck. Are you okay?"

"Yeah, yes, I'm fine! Totally fine!"

"Are you sure? You don't look so hot."

"Thanks for the- the observation!" Holy shit, that was so rude. "Sorrysorrysorry-" he tries to apologize, tries to make sure Connor isn't mad, but he is certain it isn't helping. "Sorry."

"Why the fuck are you apologizing? You didn't fucking _do_ anything!" Connor seems angry, why is he angry? Holy shit, holy shit, holy shit. 

"I- I know, I know I didn't do anything-"

"Then why are you apologizing? Are you _scared_ of me, or something?" Evan flinches. "Oh my god, you are! You're scared of me!"

"No, no-!"

"Yes, you are! Either you're scared of me, or you think I'm a complete freak. Which one is it, Evan? Huh?" He jabs a finger at Evan's chest, narrowly missing the base of his throat. Jesus Christ, what happened to the soft, sad Connor who had held Evan's hand until he could breathe right?

"Neither, Connor! Neither! I _don't_ think you're a freak, and I'm _not_ scared of you." He heaves a deep breath, trying to keep himself together. "You just startled me. And then I felt bad for- for being rude. I'm not scared of you." Connor visibly deflates, hands uncurling from around the strap of his bag, shoulders sagging, brow relaxing.

"You're...You're not?"

"No, of course not." A pause. Evan tries to catch his breath. Connor plays with the pins on his bag. 

"Are you crying?"

"What?" Evan wipes his eyes, heat rising to his cheeks. "No. What makes you ask that? I'm not crying. I've never cried in my life."

"Are you high?" Connor asks, stepping closer. There's a chair between him and Evan, but that doesn't stop Connor from leaning absurdly close. The circles under his eyes are so dark they could be bruises, and Evan briefly wonders if Connor ever gets any sleep.

"Absolutely not, I've never even- I wouldn't ever, couldn't ever do that." Jesus Christ, is it possible for him to be normal ever at all? His hands are so sweaty he's sure they're dripping. 

"Then you're crying. If you're not high, you're crying," Connor observes, not unkindly. He's making a mess of this, this big "whatever" they have going. Why can't he control his dumb feelings for one measly conversation? Connor's hand twitches, like he was going to reach out but thought better of it. 

"Sorry, sorry," Evan says, scrubbing furiously at his eyes. Why is he crying? What the hell? "Sorry. Jesus. Sorry."

"Dude, seriously, stop with all that sorry shit." Connor leans back, apparently satisfied with his assessment of Evan's features. Okay, he can do this, he _can_ not apologize. He can. The urge to say sorry is so strong that he has to bite his lip until it passes. "Listen, give me your phone real quick and I'll put my number in." There's a pause where Evan waits for the catch, waits for Connor to say just kidding, but it never comes. Connor just stands there with his hand out, looking at Evan expectantly. 

"Um, okay," Evan says, fishing his phone from the pocket of his jeans. He almost laughs. It's such a non-sequitur comment, he feels like he missed half of a conversation. Connor snatches his phone from him, saying something about how shitty it is, and types his number in. 

"There," he says, handing the phone back to Evan. "Now we don't have to send those emails all day. This is faster."

"Cool, yeah."

The seven-fifty bell rings, and Connor curses. "I've gotta go. I guess I'll see you around?"

"Yeah, yes," Evan says, quickly logging out of the computer. "Good."

"Great."

"Awesome." 

Connor nods, hair swinging with his head, and spins on his heel to leave.  
"Text me so I have your number, too!" He calls over his shoulder. Dramatic entrance, dramatic exit. Evan has a feeling that this day is only going to get more difficult as it goes on. 

\---> Evan 7:54 AM: _hey this is evan hansen_  
\--- > ConnorM 7:54 AM: _hey evan hansen this is connor murphy_  
\--- > Evan 7:56 AM: _your contact name is so boring_  
\--- > ConnorM 7:57 AM: _so change it??_  
\--- > Evan 7:57 AM: _i figured you were the creative one i cant think of anything_  
\--- > Evan 8:06 AM: _ok i changed it_  
\--- > Connor :) 8:07 AM: _... and?_  
\--- > Evan 8:07 AM: _and what_  
\--- > Connor :) 8:07 AM: _what did you change it to?_  
\--- > Evan 8:07 AM: _oh haha it's connor :)_  
\--- > Connor :) 8:08 AM: _connor :)_  
\--- > Evan 8:10 AM: _yes_

Connor doesn't respond. At 11:56, Evan acts on impulse and texts him again, trying to shake his fear that Connor was tired of him already. 

\---> Evan 11:56 AM: _sit with me_  
\--- > Evan 11:56 AM: _at lunch i mean_  
\--- > Evan 11:56 AM: _if you want_

He never gets a text back. 

Lunch proves to be disastrous. A wintry silence falls over the table as soon as Connor slams his bag down next to Evan, cutting Alana off mid-sentence. Truthfully, he's grateful- going over Alana's perpetual list of accomplishments on the daily gets to be exhausting.  
"Hey, um, hi, Connor!" Evan says in an attempt to break the tension. Of course, because nothing can go right for him at all ever, his words come out squeaky and rushed and too close together. 

Jared looks at him like _yeah, nice going,_ like _could you be more of a screw up,_ but Connor doesn't seem to notice how horrible Evan is at speaking. His chair scrapes across the linoleum as he throws himself into it.  
"Who the hell pissed in your Cheerios, Murphy?" Jared laughs. "I mean, are you making an effort to get the entire student body to be terrified of you, or does it just come naturally?"

"Shut the fuck up," Connor says, leg bouncing hard against Evan's beneath the table. Uncertainty blooms in Evan's stomach, invasive and brutal as bush honeysuckle. Maybe asking Connor to sit with him hadn't been the best idea. Jared laughs, and Evan knows deep down that he doesn't mean anything by it, but that doesn't make it okay. "What the fuck are you laughing at?" Connor snaps, white hot anger searing through the air. 

"I was joking, man, relax."

"Oh yeah, it was really fucking funny, Kleinman. So funny I forgot to laugh." Once again, silence falls over the table. It's agonizing. Cafeteria noise becomes deafening, each footfall and crackle of conversation unbearably loud. Evan's heart hammers in his chest, which is awful, because surely it's just as unbearably loud as every other sound in the cafeteria, which means that everyone in the room can hear it. Okay. Okay, deep breath. Half of his Diet Pepsi is gone, but his mouth is so dry that he chugs the rest of it and Connor looks at him like he's sprouted three extra heads. 

"So, Connor, how's your semester going?" Alana asks brightly. Her smile is almost painfully wide. The bubble of uncomfortable energy pops, and Evan lets out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding. 

"You're joking, right?" Connor scowls back at her. His leg stills. 

"No, of course not! I'm always interested in hearing feedback from my peers. It's very helpful, especially for someone like me who is looking to better school life for every member of our community." She smiles again, more encouraging. 

"Well, Beck, so far my semester has been absolutely shitty." His scowl deepens, and the crease in his forehead follows suit. The uncertainty that had settled into Evan's stomach shifts suddenly from honeysuckle to briar rose, and he kind of feels like he's going to throw up or pass out or bleed to death internally. He can practically feel his ribs snapping under the vice grip around his chest. Jesus, they were going to pierce his lungs and then he'd cough blood up everywhere, all over the table and all over Alana and Jared and Connor, and then he'd _die_ because he couldn't breathe but really he'd just be drowning in his own blood and his mom would have to pay for a funeral _and_ therapy for everyone who had been in the lunchroom when he died, and she wouldn't be able to afford going to night classes so she'd drop out and probably lose all will to live and drive her car off a cliff or something.  
Which. Would all be his fault. 

Alana interjects eagerly, practically leaping across the table at Connor. "Oh, really? That's awful! My semester has been going wonderfully. I've managed to keep a 5.0 GPA, which I was really concerned about because I'm taking so many AP courses, and I've already gotten 48 hours of community service at the soup kitchen in. I heard from Zoe that things have been rough for you lately, is there anything I can do to help? Tutoring, mentorship, anything at all?"

"So you can accumulate even more community service hours to add to your padded resume? No thanks, Beck, I'll pass." He rocks back in his chair, balancing carefully. Evan notices that Connor has repainted his nails since the last time they saw each other. Momentarily thrown, Alana blinks. She almost looks like she's going to cry, which would be horrible, because if she cried then Evan would definitely cry and Jared would make fun of him endlessly and Connor would never want to be seen with him, ever.

"Oh, well, if you change your mind just let Zoe know!" She leans across the table, gripping Connor's hand. "And remember, Connor, I'm always here to talk."

 

("How are things going, Evan? Your mom tells me you're making new friends."

"Oh. Things are. Things are fine. My friends are fine."

"What does 'fine' mean today?"

"Um. Good, I guess. Connor, he's kind of a lot to handle. But I'm, I'm trying to. Trying to handle him, I mean."

"What do you mean be that, 'he's kind of a lot to handle.’?"

"Well. Connor- didn't my mom tell you about this?"

"Yes, but I would like to hear what you have to say about it."

"I... He's just. He's so angry all the time. And like, sad. Which is really scary. And I feel, um, guilty? Because his family, they think that I'm. That I'm helping him. But how could I possibly be helping him? I can't. I can't even help _myself_."

"Evan, you _are_ helping yourself. Just by being here, by talking about this."

"Yeah, yes. I know. But it never feels like I'm doing any better, it just feels like I'm pretending to do better."

"I've seen massive improvement in you! You're making friends, going out of your way to help people..."

"He didn't even know me- he doesn't even know me! How could he write his note to me? I don't understand, _Idon'tunderstand-_ "

"Evan, I need you to slow down-"

"I just don't get it, why would he do that? Why wouldn't he write to his family? He loves his sister so much, why wouldn't he write to her, _Idon'tunderstand-_ "

"Take a deep breath. That's it, there you go, deeeeeep breath in, out through your mouth-"

"I just don't understand. The only contact- the only time he ever said anything to me, like, _ever_ , was when he pushed me down in the hall and then took my letter. Which. Which he freaked out at me for, because he thought I was trying to get a rise out of him. So. Why me? Of all people, why me?"

"He probably thought you would understand, Evan. I'm sure he saw something in you that he didn't see in anyone else. I know that it can be hard to see the good in yourself, but it's there. When he took your letter- you said there was a confrontation? He was probably trying to reach out then. You've said before that you feel like you're waving but nobody can see, like nobody is waving back. Maybe he was waving back.")

On Wednesday, Connor nearly punches Jared in the mouth for making a flippant comment about Zoe during lunch. Oddly enough, Alana also seems angry about it.  
"Jared, you have some real nerve talking about an underclassman like that," Alana says. "I cannot believe that you would say something so vile about Zoe. As a feminist and as a good friend, I'm disgusted by your blatant objectification of her."

"All I said was that she has a good ass!" Jared exclaims, trying (failing) to defend himself.

"Kleinman, if you don't shut the fuck up about my sister's ass I _will_ strangle you right here," Connor growls. Jared, to Evan's dismay, laughs and says 'kinky!'. "I swear to god-"

"Hey, Connor, can you. Can you please just be a little, um. A little quieter?" Evan stutters, trying desperately to deescalate the situation. Connor just blinks at him. "It's just that there's teachers nearby and I don't really want you getting sent to the principal's office before study hall, because I was going to work on my English paper with you? If that's okay?" Connor immediately softens, rubbing the back of his neck. 

"Yeah, of course that's okay, what part are you working on?" He turns to Evan and pulls his English binder from his tattered messenger bag, flipping to the assignment sheet. For half of a second Evan wonders why Connor hasn't gotten a new bag- it's not like the Murphys can't afford it. 

"Wait, are we, like, done talking about the whole Zoe Murphy's ass thing?" Jared asks, glancing between them. 

"Jared, drop it for now," Alana says. "You and I are going to talk about this later, when I've had time to prepare some notecards about your behavior and how to correct it."

"I'm looking forward to it, honestly, I am. Maybe you should make a PowerPoint instead- all that clip art and shitty animation really hits home, you know?"

"Can you take anything seriously?" Alana cries, gesturing widely with the banana she had been peeling. 

"Not really," Jared says. Chuckling, he turns back toward Evan and Connor. "Oh my god."

"What?" Connor's head snaps up and he glares at Jared. If looks could kill, Jared would be six feet under right now. Evan looks around. Braces himself for another argument. Tries to think of all the ways this day could get better (that doesn't work.)

"Nothing, nothing," Jared says. The lopsided grin he flashes Evan says otherwise. "I just hadn't realized you've got the hots for Evan, that's all." Connor goes pink, and Evan is certain he matches. Hell, he's probably bordering on purple. 

"Shut up, Jared!" Alana and Evan say in unison. Connor just rolls his eyes and asks Evan again for his thesis. It's a work in progress, but Evan is grateful for every moment Connor shows restraint. 

~~~~

Alana Beck is nothing if not persistent. In the following couple of weeks, she checks up on Connor during lunch and study hall no less than forty-eight times, by Evan's count. Each conversation seems to set Connor a little more on edge, and by the sixteenth consecutive day, Evan can see his jaw clench as he approaches their lunch table.  
"Um, hi, Connor!" Evan chirps, desperately trying to keep Connor's attention focused _away_ from Alana, who is already smiling enthusiastically up at him. "How was art?"

"Fine," Connor says, throwing himself into the chair beside Evan. "I'm covered in clay." Sure enough, there are grayish splatters dusting him from his hair to his hands, which are particularly messy. The deep purple smudges beneath his eyes have only darkened, and it seems his only lunch today is a thermos of black coffee. Evan tries not to stare as Connor takes a long drink from the bottle. What if it's not coffee? What if it's spiked with vodka or bailey's or poison or something? Zoe would absolutely kill him if she found out Evan had let Connor drink himself to death on school grounds. If Connor notices Evan eyeing him, he doesn't make any indication of it. Frowning, Alana also watches Connor drink from the thermos. Evan can practically feel her getting ready to ask Connor how he's feeling, but before she can say anything, Jared spills into his seat. 

"What's in the bottle, Murphy? Anything good?" Jared asks. Connor takes a long swig, eyes never leaving Jared's. 

"Bleach," Connor replies. "I knew I was going to have lunch with you today, so I thought I should be prepared."

"Damn, if I had known we were doing this Romeo and Juliet thing, I would have brought my dagger." Anxious as he is, Evan laughs involuntarily. An uneasy routine seems to have fallen over Connor and Jared. One minute, they'll be joking about how much they hate each other, and the next Connor will be at Jared's throat for something just slightly out of bounds. It drives Evan absolutely crazy, especially considering how much Jared loves it. The line he walks between engaging Connor in a sarcastic conversation and making him angry enough to completely lose it is a thin one, and Jared- Jared has always been one to push it. Which makes Evan so sick to his stomach that he knows he's going to puke sometime. Jared promised to be nicer. He _promised_. Still, there have been times like this, where Evan can't help but laughing because Jared and Connor are on the same wavelength and the absurdity of it just. Drives him over the edge. Which makes Connor and Jared both look at him like he's crazy, which he is, so it's okay.

"So, Connor, how are you feeling today?" Alana asks, and Evan's stomach immediately starts doing somersaults. This is going to be so messy, so unbelievably messy, because Jared already has Connor riled up and he's going to start yelling any second now. 

"Alana," Connor starts. He looks pissed, but he seems to be making an effort to keep his voice down. Which. Is nice. "Why are you so obsessed with how I'm doing? I've already told you, I'm not going to be some pet project for you."

"You're not!"

"Then what is it? Why do you care so much?" Alana's face falls. 

"Am I not allowed to wonder how my fr- how my _acquaintances_ are doing?" she snaps. And. Whoa. Alana Beck, literal ray of sunshine, is crying. Shoulders quaking, she pushes herself out of her seat and rushes out of the lunch room, leaving Evan to deal with Connor, because God knows Jared won't help. 

"Jesus, you think she's surfing the Red Sea?" Jared asks, watching her leave. 

"What the fuck, Jared!" 

"What? I've never seen her anything other than, like, overjoyed."

And Connor, who has been scary quiet, clears his throat. "Um. I'm going to go talk to her. I'll see you guys around I guess." He picks up his thermos and his bag, slinging it roughly across his chest. It's like every motion he makes is violent, and that. That scares Evan. So he moves to stand too, just to keep an eye on Connor, make sure he doesn't punch any lockers, but Jared groans about eating alone so Evan sits back down because it would be horrible if Jared was mad at him. 

Jared ends up convincing him to go to temple with him on Saturday morning because "My parents haven't seen much of you lately, and they're threatening to stop paying my car insurance. So I really need you to fulfill your duties as my family friend and do some wholesome activities with me." and then he has to text his mom to make sure it's okay, and by the time he gets an answer, lunch is over and neither Connor nor Alana has come back. Whatever. His mom seems ecstatic at the prospect of Evan getting out of the house over the weekend, but it's stressing Evan out beyond belief. The synagogue Jared's family goes to is nice- everyone is always welcoming and it's really peaceful there, but it reminds Evan a lot of a country club, or those big Evangelical churches you see sometimes on the side of the highway because it's upstate and kind of fancy and even the landscaping is perfect. Plus, Evan is just used to his little synagogue in the city. Their rabbi is an immigrant from Israel, so she has all these great stories about serving in the IDF, and she was really a big help when Evan first started looking into therapy. Maybe this time won't be so bad, but the last time Evan had gone to temple with the Kleinmans ended with him having to jam his head between his knees because he'd forgotten that Orthodox services are a bit different from Reform ones.

"... Earth to Evan, it's time for class," Jared says, snapping his fingers to get Evan's attention.  
"Oh, shit, right," he curses. Damn, when had his hands gotten so sweaty? 

Connor doesn't make another appearance until after school, lingering next to Evan's locker while he packs up to go home. And it kind of pisses Evan off, because he had spent all of study hall and English worried out of his mind that Connor was having a nervous breakdown or something because he didn't even text Evan, when it turns out all he did was ditch the last two periods to get high. Evan can smell it on him, weed and cigarettes and matches.

"Heeeey, Evan!" Connor croons, too too too loud. It makes Evan wince. 

"Hey, Connor," he says. Connor leans against the lockers, tapping a rhythm against them with restless fingers. "Listen, can you, um. Please try to keep it down?"

"Shit, sorry, am I being loud?" he says, loudly. Exhales. Laughs. "I'm sorry, Jesus, I thought I was being quieter. Whoa, check it out, I need to repaint my nails. What the fuck? I thought I did that the other day."

"Connor, seriously..."

"Calm down, Evan. God. Loosen up," Connor chuckles. "You're so fucking high strung, sometimes I can't stand you."

"What?" He can feel his throat closing around tears. "Um. You. You can't stand me?" 

"That's not what I meant, come on."

"No, that. That is what you meant." Slamming his locker, Evan starts to walk away. Connor can't even put up with him. Great, now he will never want to be around Evan again. There's no point. The gig is up. He'll just go back to being family friends with Jared and acquaintances with Alana, and Connor will maybe nod at him in the halls sometimes. He's halfway down the hall before he hears heavy footfalls on the tile behind him. 

"Hansen, hey, slow the fuck down!" Connor calls, hurrying to catch up. "You know that's not what I meant. I don't even know why I said it."

"I have to go. I have to get home." The doors are close enough now, he'll be out of the building before the tears seep out of his eyes. He pushes the doors open, fighting to keep his breath steady. Of course Connor can't stand him. How he had ever fooled himself into thinking they might possibly be friends, he'll never know. The only person who finds Evan remotely tolerable is his mother, and she's never around to see the worst of him. 

"Wait with me. Let Zoe drive you home." Connor grabs his arm, hand so cold it sends goosebumps across Evan's skin. His eyes are watering so badly by now, he's going to start crying any second. "Please."

"Connor, I really have to go. I'll see you around." Vision blurring, Evan rushes down the street toward home. It's not as if Connor has any reason to like him. In fact, Evan can come up with a laundry list of the reasons Connor shouldn't like him. He repeats it to himself on the way home, feeling stupid and inadequate and guilty. The front door swings open easily. Mom must have gotten someone to fix it, finally. This is his worst fear coming to fruition. He can officially check off ‘being told straight to his face that he's intolerable by someone he had begun to consider a friend’ from his bucket list. He makes it to his room before he really starts crying, which he counts as a personal victory. Tears spill as soon as he shuts his door, clouding his vision, burning as they slip down his cheeks. How fucking stupid could he be, thinking that there was a possibility that Connor actually liked being around him? They had agreed weeks ago that their relationship, for all intents and purposes, was for show. For Connor to save face. For Evan to look a little less lonely. Jesus Christ, Heidi is going to be so disappointed when she comes home and realizes her son has ruined the one chance at true friendship he's ever had. Collapsing in a heap on his bed only manages to make him feel worse, because he lands on his broken arm and bangs his head against the wall. His backpack ends up next to him, but he doesn't have the energy to unpack his homework and put his bag on the floor.  
Which is how he ends up getting texts from Zoe Murphy. 

\---> Unknown Number 3:36 PM: _Hey Evan, this is Zoe. I got your number from Connor, I hope that's alright?_  
\--- > Evan 3:37 PM: _hey zoe yeah its cool, no big deal_  
\--- > Evan 3:38 PM: _whats going on_  
\--- > Evan 3:38 PM: _that sounds so rude oh my god im sorry i just figured you wouldnt be texting me without a reason i guess_  
\--- > Zoe 3:39 PM: _Don't worry about it. You're right, I totally have a reason for texting. It's mostly about Connor._  
\--- > Evan 3:40 PM: _is he ok?? are you ok??_  
\--- > Zoe 3:41 PM: _Yeah, we're both fine. I'm going to call you, this will be easier over the phone._

Evan's heart kicks up as he reads the last text over and over. A phone call with Zoe Murphy? There's no way he'll survive this. His mom will come home and get upset because she'll see that he hasn't ordered any pizza, so she'll go upstairs to get him and ask what happened and find him dead in bed with his phone clutched against his chest and then he'll have to be buried with his phone in his hand because nobody, not even the mortician, will be able to move it without, like, cutting his fingers off. And his dad won't come to the funeral, he'll just collect Evan's life insurance policy and call Heidi to say something stupid like "Sorry I couldn't make it to the funeral, I had a dinner party with my coworkers."  
His phone vibrates. Air forces itself into his lungs and back out a few times before he can answer it. 

"Hey, hello, what's. Um. What's up?" he manages, nearly choking on his words. 

"He's just stoned and freaking out. I think he's having a bad trip or something. He feels really bad about earlier, but he won't even tell me what happened because he doesn't want me to think worse of him." Zoe sounds really annoyed. Like if she got irritated one more time she would just explode. "Which is funny, because he doesn't care about making me think worse of him when he's sober, but. Whatever. I would just really appreciate it if you could fill me in so I can try to calm him down before my dad gets home."

"Uh. He, he showed up at my locker high after ditching the last two periods and told me he couldn't stand me because I'm, like, too high strung or something?" Evan says, and grimaces at the way he ends his sentence like it's a question. "And he was being um, real- really loud. He wanted me to wait with him so you could give me a ride home but I. I, um, walked instead."

"Okay, so he was being obnoxious as usual. I don't know how you can put up with him on a daily basis. He's such an _asshole_ ," Zoe says. Evan can hear a racket in the background. "Gimme a second, I have to deal with him." Distantly, he catches snippets of conversation. Connor's whining about something. "I'm back."

"He's really not that- that bad when I'm with him. No offense, sorry, but why isn't Connor calling me himself?"

Zoe sighs heavily. "He says he doesn't want to call you because he thinks you hate him now and he doesn't want to bother you," she says. "He also says that he's 'really really, terribly, awfully, endlessly sorry for being the fucking worst' and that he's 'never getting high again' because it makes him feel like 'a pathetic, heartless jellyfish'. I can't vouch for the jellyfish part, but he's pretty pathetic and heartless normally, so. Whatever."

"Um, tell him I don't hate him and that I don't think he's pathetic or heartless, please," Evan says. He scratches his cast, wincing at the bruise he's managed to give himself from scratching too much. "Also, he really cares about you. Just. Just so you know."

"Listen, I gave up on him caring about me a long time ago. I don't need someone who's only known him for a few weeks to try to tell me he loves me, okay?" She says, but sounds more tired than anything. Evan bounces his leg. "I've heard all that bullshit before. Hang on, he wants to say something," she says, and Evan hears the phone being set down. If Connor wants to talk to him so badly, why doesn't he just call himself? "He says that he really hopes he didn't ruin things with you and... What, Connor? Are you fucking serious? Oh my god." Again, the phone is dropped and Evan wants to scream. "... And that he- oh my god," she wheezes. Is she laughing? What's so funny? "And that he wishes you were with him right now, so he could hold your hand. 'No homo though'."

"Um, wow. What the hell? I guess I could come over, I mean. My mom is, like, working tonight. So. So she just left me money for pizza but, um, she'll be happy that I went to someone's house for dinner instead." Connor wants to hold his hand? High Connor, tough Connor, angry Connor wants to hold his hand?

"Yeah, that would be cool. I can't calm him down enough without backup, and there's no way in hell I'm dragging our mom into this. Connor'd kill me." 

"Would it... is it too much to ask for you to pick me up? It's not that long of a walk from my house to yours but it started raining right after I got home, and I don't want to show up to your place soaked."

"Okay, sure. I'll be over there in like... fifteen minutes? I need to wrap Connor up real quick so he can't go anywhere while I'm gone, but the drive is only a couple minutes, I think. I got the address from his phone," she says. "I'll be over soon. See you." 

"Yeah, see you." He hangs up. Takes a shaky breath.  
Fuck.


	5. i never meant to cause you trouble

Zoe arrives pretty quickly after hanging up. She honks a couple times to let Evan know she's there, so he hurries out to her car before he can convince himself to cancel.

"Listen," Zoe starts. "Whatever Connor is doing to get you to be friends with him, don't fall for it. He's fucked up, Evan, and you're... Well. You're _you_. I appreciate you trying to make him feel better or whatever it is you do for him, but don't feel obligated to be his friend. He'll just end up hurting you. It's what he does."

"I. I, um, I want to be friends with him? He didn't do anything to me."

"Why do you hang out with him then? No offense, but he's awful."

"He's not!" Evan says. It comes out too fast, too aggressive, too defensive. "Zoe, he's trying _so_ hard. Like. Like, the other day, hm. At lunch. He, he just rolled his eyes at something really horrible Jared said. A few weeks ago, he would have lost it."

"Whatever," Zoe sighs. She pulls into the driveway. "Do what you want. I'm just trying to save you some trouble." She gets out of the car and slams her door, and Evan guesses he's supposed to follow her inside. So. He does. And he's immediately faced with Mrs. (Please-Call-Me-Cynthia) Murphy, who has the most hopeful look on her face. Which just makes Evan feel horrible, because surely she thinks Connor invited him over when in reality Connor was totally high and freaking out too much to even make a phone call or send a text. 

"Oh, Evan, it's so good to see you again!" She exclaims, ushering him inside. "Connor talks about you all the time, he just adores you." She squeezes his arm happily, and Evan falls a little bit in love with her, the way you do with an over excited puppy. Except. Most over excited puppies don't have suicidal, angry children with serious drug problems. 

"Mom, don't embarrass him, jeez," Zoe says, starting up the stairs. "Come on, Evan, Connor's upstairs." The hallway is still lined with photographs. Connor's bedroom is still missing the door. Nothing has changed- Evan doesn't know why he feels like everything has. 

"Does he really talk about me?" Evan asks tentatively. They pass Connor's room, so he must be holed up in Zoe's. Truthfully, that makes the most sense, considering. 

"Like you wouldn't believe," she says. "As much as I don't want him to suck you down to his level, I'll admit that he's a hell of a lot more normal when he's got someone to brag about all the time." Someone to brag about? That has to be a joke. There's nothing remotely boast worthy about Evan. He can't get through a single conversation without stuttering, his hands are so sweaty all the time that he's almost certain his fingers stay a little pruned constantly, and sometimes when Connor calls him, he has to hang up halfway through the conversation because he can't catch his breath which is so pathetic. Unbelievably pathetic. And then Connor texts him frantically like _dude are you okay_ , like _you're not dying are you_ , and Evan has to explain every single time that no, he's not dying, he just gets too nervous over the phone to keep the conversation going. For the most part, Connor seems to get it, but there are times where Evan can tell he just needs to _talk_ to someone and texting isn't doing anything for him at all. 

"He. He doesn't, um, complain about me?" Evan asks. Earlier, when Connor told him he was too high strung, he seemed so serious.

"Why would he? He complains about Alana and Jared a lot, but you're like, untouchable," Zoe stops in front of her door, and Evan can hear soft music playing from within. "I'm just going to warn you, he's a mess right now. I don't think he's gotten high in a while, and he's really freaking out. So, like, be gentle with him or whatever. I don't want him getting mad and ruining my room again." Evan catches the way her voice sticks, and he _knows_ she loves Connor a lot more than she lets on. She's got to be out of her mind worried right now. 

"Yeah, yes, of course." He nods, trying to prepare himself for the worst. As he's nodding (he keeps nodding, even after Zoe gets that he understands the situation) Zoe swings the door open. True to her word, she has swaddled Connor in a tattered quilt. He's sat on her bed, wrapped up tightly, with headphones on in addition to music playing from Zoe's stereo. Eyes closed. For a second, Evan is reminded of the first day Connor was back at school, when he sat back against the music room doors and was so still he could have been dead. 

"Say hi to him or something," Zoe whispers, prodding Evan in the back. "I've got to help mom with dinner. Don't let him leave the room, under any circumstances."

"Um, okay," he says. What the hell is he supposed to do with Connor, just keep him locked up in here against his will? What if he has to go to the bathroom or something? Without so much as a backward glance, Zoe leaves, abandoning Evan with her volatile brother. Who hasn't even moved an inch since they walked in. Rather than disturb Connor, Evan decides to look around a bit. Zoe's room is so much more personal than Connor's. There are posters on the walls from concerts she's gone to and photos of her with friends, with family. There's even one of Connor, when he was younger. His hair is shorter. The ceiling is painted with the same constellations as Connor's, which makes him think that maybe the Murphy siblings painted their ceilings together. A surge of affection pushes up his throat at the thought of Zoe and Connor spending hours balanced precariously on chairs and step stools. Evan imagines things were better back then. Maybe things were great when they painted their ceilings. Then again, maybe things weren't great or even good, and Evan is just reading too far into this. As he approaches the bed, Connor opens his eyes. Surprise flashes across them, followed in quick succession by something akin to joy. 

"Whoa, hey," he says (shouts), pulling the headphones off. "Hey, hey, hey." His eyes are raw red and watery. The quilt slips from around his shoulders, pooling in his lap. "Oh, fuck, god damn it. Oh my god. This fucking blanket. This fucking blanket won't stay in place. And I can't put it back. Zoe's the only person in the whole world who can put it back right." He scrubs at his eyes. "Fuck." And suddenly, he's crying. 

"Connor, hey, it's fine," Evan says, climbing into bed next to him. In this moment, he would do anything to stop Connor's tears. Partially because he always cries when other people cry, but mostly because Connor is like, kind of his best friend. Definitely his best friend. So he's obligated to make sure nothing makes him cry. "Look, I'll get it." He faces Connor, taking the quilt from his lap. It's warm, and soft, and Evan has to push the thought of Zoe deliberately finding the most comforting blanket for Connor out of his head. As tough and hateful as she might act, Evan can tell she really loves her brother. So Evan wraps the blanket around his shoulders again. Tries to think happy thoughts. Connor is quiet for a moment, and Evan releases a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. 

"No, no," Connor cries. He shakes the blanket off. "I can't. I can't have the whole thing to myself. I can't. That's so selfish, I'm so selfish, oh my god, Evan, I'm so selfish. Fuck. I'm. I'm the worst friend ever. _Fuck_." Lip quivering, he offers the blanket to Evan, so he takes it. This is the weirdest thing to ever happen to Evan. Never in a million years would he have imagined spending his Friday night consoling one disastrously stoned Connor Murphy. But. Here he is anyway, doing exactly that. It must be part of the best friends package. How pathetic is that, that he's stuck calling someone who can't even stand to be around him his best friend?

"Okay," he starts, trying to keep his voice as soft and even as possible. "I'm going to put it around both of us, but we'll have to sit closer together. Is that alright?"

"Yes, yes," Connor says frantically. "Please. Oh my god. I'm going to float away. Evan, help, please, oh my god. I'm going to float off the bed. That's why Zoe gave me the blanket, so I wouldn't float off too far. I don't want to float away Evan, I don't want to-" Evan throws the quilt around them quickly, before Connor can get himself too worked up. They're shoulder to shoulder now, pressed together all the way to the knee. The sweatshirt Connor is perpetually swathed in is warm against Evan's bare arm. How can Connor wear that sweatshirt all the time? Surely he gets too hot. 

"Better?" Evan asks. Sighing, Connor relaxes against him. 

"Yeah," he says. "Yeah." For a while, it is quiet in Zoe's room. Connor stays where he is, leaning into Evan's side, and Evan makes sure the blanket remains wrapped securely around the two of them. Music still plays, but it's mellow and nice. This should be uncomfortable. There's no way in hell that Evan would get this close with anyone other than his mom, but oddly enough, it doesn't feel unnatural with Connor. Maybe it's because Connor is out of his mind high. Maybe it's because the situation is so weird that it's just not clicking for Evan yet. _But_ , a scary part of his brain chimes in, _maybe it's because you want this_.  
He ignores that thought.   
Connor's face is pressed into Evan's neck. Evan can feel his eyelashes move each time he blinks. It's driving him a little bit crazy, but he's not going to make Connor turn away. In the quiet, Evan looks around Zoe's room. Takes in the organized chaos of it. She has sheet music spilling out of her desk, books stacked on every available surface. Her bedside table has an empty bottle of Advil on it, which strikes Evan as odd because who leaves the lid off of a pill bottle? But, like, it kind of fits in with the rest of her room. The oddity of it doesn't really shock him. She's got fairy lights strung up around her windows, and pretty, gauzy curtains that soften the effect of the lights and make the whole room look a little bit like it came from a fairy tale. Her bedspread is white with little botanical diagrams covering it, and Evan immediately recognizes that it's from IKEA. And, Jesus, how big of a loser do you have to be to know exactly where a duvet cover came from? Beneath the covers, Connor's legs twitch restlessly. Without thinking, Evan puts his hand on Connor's thigh to still him. 

"Evan?" Connor whispers. They've been sitting in silence for at least forty-five minutes. At one point, he'd thought Connor had fallen asleep because he kind of curled into Evan's side, and Evan had to move his arm up around Connor's shoulders, but Connor had sniffled a little and heaved a sigh and Evan knew immediately that he was wide awake. Which, again, should have freaked him out. But. Well. It didn't. 

"Hm?"

"You don't hate me, do you?"

"What? No, of course not." Can Connor hear his heart pounding?

"You should. You really should."

He doesn't know what to say to that. Something in his chest aches in a new way, and he wants so badly to press the sadness out of Connor. To just. Just squeeze him until it all pours out, so he can at least feel worthy of friendship. He settles for squeezing Connor's shoulder.   
Apparently, Connor still wants to hold his hand. So. He does. 

"Hey, Evan?"

"Yeah?"

"Just making sure you're still here."

"Connor, where would I go?"

"I don't know. Everyone leaves."

"I won't. I would never leave."

Later, when Zoe comes upstairs to call them down to dinner, Connor will whisper _thank you_ so quietly that Evan nearly misses it. 

~~~~

Dinner with the Murphy's, part two. Remembering the disaster that unfolded the last time he ate with them, Evan says a quiet prayer and crosses his fingers. Connor, to his credit, is able to act remarkably normal. By this point his high should be winding down, so Evan is sure that helps, but Connor doesn't even bristle when Mr. Murphy sits down at the table and says "Well, look who finally decided to grace us with his presence."

"Oh, wow, good one dad," Connor says, rolling his eyes. Secretly, Evan is amazed that he's able to keep himself calm. "What a zinger. Zoe, pass the rolls please. I'm absolutely famished." She hands the basket of bread to him, eyebrows nearly disappearing into her hairline. The table goes quiet as serving dishes are passed around. Somehow, Evan winds up with salad, pasta, and what looks like chicken breast, but could very well be something else entirely. He can't think of anything to do but eat, even though he's really not hungry at all, but he just keeps shoveling the food into his mouth without tasting anything. He doesn't even stop to consider whether or not his plate is kosher. It all just turns to ash as soon as it hits his tongue, anyway. He's making an absolute fool of himself. Luckily, Connor is in the same boat- he's eating like his life depends on it. Zoe kicks Evan beneath the table and mouths _munchies_ , which admittedly makes a lot of sense. 

"Connor, you're going to get pasta sauce on your jacket," Mr. Murphy says critically, eyeing the long sleeves. "I don't see how you can stand to wear that all the time, anyway. Aren't you hot?"

"No, actually, I'm perfectly fine," Connor replies coolly. The air feels electric around them. Connor's hands won't stay still- he keeps tugging the sleeves down and fiddling with his utensils, but he keeps his eyes trained steadily on Mr. Murphy. A loaded silence falls over the table.

"Um," Zoe starts, straightening in her seat. "Evan, when are you getting your cast off?" Cynthia sighs, clearly grateful for the subject change. 

"Soon, yeah," Evan says. "I'm going to need a. A brace for a while, um, because I've had the cast for so long, but I'll. I should be back to normal in, like, no time."

"How did you break it, again? Sorry, I just can't remember," she says. The small talk is much better than the stilted conversation between Connor and Mr. Murphy, even if it is an uncomfortable topic. 

"Fell out of a tree," Connor answers for him. Which was kind of rude. Evan supposes that he can't really expect him to be on his best behavior though, so he doesn't let it get to him. 

"Oh, right. Jeez, how could I forget? Jared made so many jokes about it, oh my god, I can't believe he ever let you live that down." Zoe laughs, eyes bright. Evan is reminded sharply of all the reasons he fell in love with her. 

"Yeah, yes. He. He, uh, he hasn't yet. Let me live it down, I mean. Um, how do you know Jared? Sorry-"

"He does all the tech stuff for jazz band. He's kind of magical when it comes to technology, honestly. He could probably steal someone's identity if he wanted to." Zoe says, and Cynthia laughs. Mr. Murphy clears his throat, as if to say _identity theft isn't funny_ and Cynthia's laughter dies at her lips. 

"He's a fucking asshole, Zoe, don't get involved with him," Connor warns, reaching for the salad bowl. 

"Language," Cynthia sighs, passing balsamic vinaigrette to him. 

"Yeah, no, that's not happening anytime soon," Zoe says. The easy flow of conversation makes Evan dizzy. He feels horrible, like he's an extra on the set of the Truman Show. Like he's observing something so delicate and intimate and normal happen from the outside, and everyone involved is pretending like they don't know they're being watched. Like they don't know they're sitting at the table with an intruder, a liar, an imposter. As if sensing his discomfort, Connor taps his foot against Evan's. Evan taps back, S. O. S., dot dot dot dash dash dash dot dot dot, help me help me help me help me. Panic settles comfortably into the hollow of Evan's stomach, a feral cat waiting to pounce. He would kill for a Xanax right now. Connor seems to be making a concerted effort to keep his voice down and not piss anyone off, which Evan appreciates. The only person at the table who doesn't appear at ease is Mr. Murphy, who has downed two glasses of wine and barely said a word. 

"Connor, have you given any more thought to what we talked about the other night?" Mr. Murphy asks pointedly, breaking into the amiable conversation. 

"What?" Connor asks, startled, while Cynthia exclaims _not now, Larry!_ "Like, about my grades or whatever?"

"Yes, about the fact that you're going to fail senior year if you don't try harder," Mr. Murphy snaps. Zoe mumbles something under her breath and Connor glares at her like he's trying to melt her into a puddle of stained denim and flannel. 

"I told you, my grades would be better if I was in ther-"

"No, your grades would be better if you bothered to show up to class!" From the way Mr. Murphy speaks, Evan can tell he's not done. "You're wasting your education for- for what? To get high? To be lazy? To act like a child and throw a temper tantrum every time something doesn't go your way?"

Evan's heart is going to pound right out of his chest and flop around in the middle of the table like a fish out of water if he doesn't get his pulse under control soon. Dinner had been going _so well_ , it was boring and uncomfortable but it wasn't scary. Now. Now it's so scary, everything's scary, _Connor's_ scary. And like, not in therapy? Apparently? Which doesn't seem right. What rich white kid _isn't_ in therapy? Tension builds as Connor pushes a piece of chicken around his plate aggressively. Cynthia has a hand pressed firmly against her mouth, as if she's trying to keep her words inside of her. Zoe, for her part, is acting like this is completely normal. The mellow enthusiasm Connor had been sporting vanished about five minutes ago. Now, he's practically vibrating beside Evan. Mr. Murphy continues berating Connor, and Evan is trying so hard to keep his breathing even that he can't even really focus on what's being said. 

"Larry, that's enough," Cynthia says, voice flat. "Our son doesn't deserve this. He's _trying_ , can't you see that?"

"If he was trying, he wouldn't want therapy. He wouldn't be threatening Zoe. He wouldn't be skipping school."

"Mom, can I be excused?" Zoe cuts in. 

"Of course, baby, I'm sorry," Cynthia coos, pushing Zoe's hair back from her face. A loose, harsh laugh escapes from Connor. If Evan didn't know him, he would have thought it was a sob. Zoe stands, rushing up the stairs, presumably to her room. Connor stands, too, pulling Evan up with him. For a second, Evan knows that Connor is going to drag him out of the house and down the street and to wherever he gets drugs so he can get high again and say _Evan this is your fault,_ and be like _if you hadn't been so weird at lunch today and after school then we wouldn't even be in this mess,_ and Evan would be forced to smoke some weed and he'd end up a homeless drug addict within the month. But then Connor stalls, looks at Cynthia like _mom am I excused too?_ and it's so surprising to see Connor asking permission for anything that Evan is positive he stumbled into an alternate universe. He is going to explode, any second now. Cynthia nods, giving Evan what he thinks is supposed to be a reassuring smile but it looks more like a grimace. "Connor, you too, dear. You shouldn't have to listen to this." Relief floods Connor's face. He takes Evan's hand and leads him upstairs, back to his bedroom. It still smells like bleach. 

"Jesus fucking christ, I hate my family," Connor groans, once they're seated on his bed. Music is playing from Zoe's room down the hall, some deep dark indie stuff that Evan would probably like if he wasn't so fucked up right now. "And don't even say 'oh, they're not that bad,' because they _are_ that bad and I'm not in the mood to listen to another person tell me to suck it up."

"For what it's worth, I wasn't going to say that," Evan says. His heart is finally slowing down. Connor stands, pacing back and forth. He tugs his sleeves down. The wood floor creaks beneath his jerky steps, like it's asking him to calm down. 

"Listen, I was super fucking stoned earlier. So. Like. Sorry, or whatever, for anything I said. Or did, I guess," Connor says, stopping momentarily. 

"Oh, ha, no big deal," it totally was a big deal. "Sorry for freaking out about what you said. Um." A beat. Connor resumes his pacing, pent up, restless, reckless energy rolling off of him. 

"Fuck. Fuck," He pushes a hand through his hair. "I hate this. Fuck."

"Um, I'm sorry. Uh. I'm a little lost." The crease in Connor's forehead makes an appearance, perpetual scowl following suit. God, could he literally ever say anything right? Fumbling words seems to be Evan's greatest talent. Well. Being a human disaster is a close second, followed by a penchant for dropping himself out of trees and failing to actually kill himself, but that's neither here nor there. Stern voices drift up from downstairs, and Connor bristles.

"It's nothing," Connor says. It was clearly something. "I was just thinking out loud. Sorry. Don't you have, like, essays to write or something?" Which is super rude and it pisses Evan off, because he didn't even bring a bag with him, he literally ran downstairs without _anything_ to meet Zoe because she sounded so stressed on the phone which just made Evan think that Connor was like, dying or something even though logically he knew you couldn't really die from smoking too much weed. But. Whatever. It's not like he had anything better to do anyway, right? Heidi wasn't even home to watch shitty television with, because she took Erica's shift again. He knows he should tell Connor that he's kind of being a jerk, but he just starts picking at his shoes instead. He feels bad for even thinking that. 

"HeyConnorwhere'sthebathroom?" He blurts, just to break the tension. Since when is there tension between them?

"Dude, you literally walked right past it. It's the only other door in this hallway, besides Zoe's." 

"Right, yeah, thanks!" He practically burns rubber as he skids into the hall, desperate for the next breath. The bathroom is all white, which stresses Evan out beyond belief because it feels like a hospital, and it smells heavily of bleach, too, just like Connor's bedroom. The sink. He's just got to get to the sink, and then he'll be fine. He just needs water. Easy. 

As it turns out, getting water is not easy. The anxiety that's been growing behind his ribs all afternoon decides that now is a fantastic time to wake from its sporadic hibernation, and he ends up curled on the floor for twenty minutes while Connor tries to talk him down from the other side of the door because, like the idiot that he is, he locked the door when he went in. Connor came to the bathroom probably five minutes after Evan started freaking out, because "something just didn't feel right," and he "kind of got worried" when Evan didn't come back right away. So. Now Evan's stuck on the cold tile floor of the bathroom trying to calm himself down enough to unlock the door while Connor rambles on and on about some book he's reading because he knows that Evan sometimes just needs to listen to someone talk for a minute. Which wigs Evan out because one, literally nobody in his entire life has ever figured out how to talk him down from a panic attack and two, Connor-freaking-Murphy knows him well enough to be able to do this. Never in his life would he have imagined that the scariest person in the school would be able to get him out of the hole he digs himself into every time he gets too anxious to move, but. Here they are. 

"Hey man, can you let me in? I think Zoe knows something's up," Connor calls, knocking gently. The idea of Zoe finding the two of them like this is enough of a motivator for Evan to force himself up onto his knees. He manages to scoot over to the door and unlock it, bolt coming back with a heavy _thump_. Much to his dismay, he has to press his back hard against the wall to ground himself again, because as soon as he got the door unlocked his head started spinning. He wants to stand up and run out. In fact, running away sounds like a great plan, if only he could get off the floor. Why can't he get up? "I'm coming in, okay?" The door eases open, and Connor sticks his head in, wild hair pulled back into a bun. And. And holy fucking shit, Connor's ears are pierced. He closes the door behind him and folds himself down to the floor beside Evan. Now what? They are so, so close. Evan can make out each individual eyelash framing Connor's cloudy blue eyes, and there's a little brown spot just to the side of his right pupil that Evan had never noticed before. Their legs are bumping, ankles pressed together. Connor's wearing fuzzy socks, and how had Evan not noticed that before? Connor Murphy is wearing fuzzy socks and has his ears pierced and looks so sad and worried right now, and it’s all just too much but Evan doesn’t even want to move or run or jump away, he just wants to sit here with Connor and try to calm down and find new things about him that he’d never noticed before. Which is so ridiculously weird and dumb. But. But he can’t stop his brain from going there, so. Whatever. This can't be happening. No, no way, he can't be having another panic attack in front of Connor Murphy. No. It's not happening, it's not happening, it's not happening. Nononononono. Connor’s hands are shaking. He’s probably scared that Evan’s going to go postal or something and stab him or punch him or kick him.

He's breathing weird, isn't he? Holding his breath would be easier, safer. So he stops trying to breathe, and without thinking, reaches out to touch Connor. Just. Just to remind himself that Connor is real, that he's alive, that he's not some fever dream hallucination. Not a figment of his imagination. And Connor is solid beneath his fingertips, the high of his cheek cold and dry against the sweat slicked skin of Evan's hand. "Hey," Connor breathes, _so_ softly. Evan tries to take a breath, but it gets stuck somewhere between the two of them and he gasps for air, the terrible shuddering sound of anxiety induced breathlessness echoing around the bathroom. This is so embarrassing. Absolutely humiliating. Connor will never want to be seen with him again, so he'll end up friendless and alone in a world that he's certain is out to get him, and when he tries to say hi to Connor in the hall he'll just keep walking, so Evan will start to fade away again. And then he'll probably throw himself out of a beautiful old oak tree again, except this time, it'll work, and then his mom won't have to worry about him anymore and he won't be such a bother to Jared, and Connor will just go back to smoking weed and terrorizing anyone who comes near him. Everything will go back to how it was meant to be, and countless people's lives would be better without him. Connor's cheeks are flushed. He's red to his ears. 

"Hey, um. Hey," Evan stutters wetly. "Sorry, sorry."

"Fuck, Evan, stop apologizing." He rolls his eyes. "And. And stop looking at me like I'm nice." Connor grumbles. So Evan wipes his hands on his jeans. He's probably sweated through his shirt again, and now if he moves Connor will get a huge whiff of smelly boy, and then he'll leave and make Evan sit in the bathroom alone until he got his sweatiness under control. His throat tightens again. What if Connor is just messing with him because he knows that Evan keeps having these stupid, kind of gay thoughts about him? What if Connor is secretly filming this whole mess and he's going to post it on YouTube after Evan leaves? Jesus Christ. 

He tries to breathe, but it stumbles in his chest and it comes out more like a sob. 

Connor coughs, says something like "what the fuck?" and wipes at Evan's cheeks. When did he start crying?

"S-sorry, shit, sorry," Evan stutters. Snot starts to drip from his nose, and it's _so_ disgusting. 

"Stop- hey, look at me. Stop saying sorry." And he.  
He pulls Evan to him.   
Wraps his arms tightly around his ribs.   
Squeezes until Evan does the same, and they're wrapped around each other on the bathroom floor like idiots, but. It's kind of nice? Ordinarily the pressure would probably freak Evan out, but this is okay. Better than okay. This is good, but Evan's heart is still beating too frantically and he's having a heart attack heartattackheartattack. Connor's hair tickles Evan's neck, but he's not going to move anytime soon. "Do you have your pills or whatever with you?"

"No."

"You should really keep those with you."

"I- I know." He's drowning, his lungs are on fire, he still can't breathe cantbreathcantbreathe and he's too hot, the fire in his lungs has spread to the rest of his body, his skin is burning, melting. Now Connor knows just how fucked up he is. That panic attack he had the first time he had dinner with the Murphys? A walk in the park compared to this. He needs to call his mom, needs his Xanax and his stupid SSRIs that don't _do anything_ but he takes them anyway because he knows Heidi would worry too much if he didn't. He tries to ground himself, tries to focus on his surroundings or whatever, but it's not _working_ and the guilt is starting to set in, heavy in his head. Can't Connor tell that he's having an actual, legitimate heart attack? Shouldn't he be calling 911 by now? Maybe it would be better if he just died here. Then his mom wouldn't have to worry about him killing himself, because clearly he would have died of a heart attack, and people don't just give themselves heart attacks. Right?

"You're okay," Connor says. "Try to match my breathing. You're okay, you're okay." Connor breathes in. Holds it. Then exhales in one fluid display of how normal people who can do normal things breathe. Yeah, like that's going to happen for Evan. It's a good joke. “Evan, hey, I need you to breathe for me, okay? Just. Just like, stop holding your breath, dude, jesus.” 

“... What?”

“You keep holding your breath, okay, and every time you do, I think you’re choking or something and it really freaks me out so just please stop. Sorry.” Connor shifts, and grips Evan’s shirt as if to steady himself. It’s quiet for a few minutes. Eventually, Evan’s heart stops hammering so hard, and slows to his normal, steady anxious rhythm. The pressure of Connor’s arms loosens, but he doesn’t try to move away, and they end up kind of just, like, tangled up on the floor. And if Zoe walked in right now, she probably would get the complete wrong idea- why did he have to think that? That’s all he’s ever going to be able to think about anymore, and when he dies they’ll inscribe “died thinking about sleeping with Connor Murphy,” on his headstone, so everyone for all eternity will _know_. The thought alone makes him want to push away from Connor, but frankly, he doesn’t have the energy.

“Connor?”

“Hm?”

“Thanks.”

“Yeah, don’t mention it.”

“No, um. Really. You’re- it’s just, no one had ever known me well enough to get me out of my head, I guess. So. Uh. Yeah.” He clears his throat. Clears it again. His hands are sweating again; Connor is going to have great big sweat stains on the back of his jacket.

“No one has ever known me well enough to keep me from throwing a fit, so,” Connor coughs, moves his legs. “Right back at you, I guess.”

“You _don’t_ throw fits,” Evan starts, cutting himself off before he gets the chance to make Connor mad.

“Yeah, well, tell that to Larry,” Connor says. “Anyway, we should probably-” he gestures toward the door.

“Okay, hm. Um. Sure.” Evan pulls his arms back from around Connor. He tries to ignore the way his pulse ticks up again. The two of them stand, and Connor reaches for the doorknob. “Let me just-” his pants are all messed up, his shirt is wrinkled- he needs to straighten himself out before facing the Murphys again. The second-hand khakis are a pain in the ass to fix, but his shirt is even worse. Connor gives him a quick once over.

“You look freezing, Evan, here,” he says, swiftly removing his jacket and throwing it over Evan’s shoulders. Evan catches the way he crosses his arms as soon as his jacket is off, but he doesn’t think much of it- Connor’s probably cold, too, but he’s just too nice to say anything. Truthfully, Evan is grateful for the extra layer. It’s soft and warm and it smells like Connor, which is just a bonus.

“Hey, thanks!”

“Whatever, man, let’s just get out of this fucking bathroom. I hate it in here.”

“Okay, cool, yeah, we should- we should, um-” he makes an aborted movement, kind of a half gesture, but he thought better of it halfway through and just dropped his arm. “Sorry, that was so awkward. Who does that? Obviously we want to get out of the bathroom, what two guys want to chill in the bathroom for an hour? God, of course we need to leave the bathroom. Sorry.”

“Jesus christ, calm down,” Connor grumbles, twisting the knob. “Okay?” Evan manages a nod. “Good.”

“Great.” Another dumb, head bopping nod.

“Awesome.”

~~~~

They make a pit stop in Connor’s room so he can grab another sweatshirt, and Evan checks his phone. He’s got seven messages, which is wild because normally he has none. Two of them are from Jared, who has apparently found out that he’s at Connor’s house. He shoots off a quick response and exits from the conversation before Jared can reply. The next is from his dad, but he’s not even going to bother reading that one because he doesn’t want to deal with the Pandora’s box of guilt and anger that would open. And Connor is looking at him funny because he probably made some stupid noise when he saw the message, so now he has to explain that his dad is taking an interest in him for once in his life. There are three texts from his mom, making sure he got home alright, letting him know she was on her way home but “wouldn’t be there long” because she was going to talk to her professor about something, and another one asking if he has his meds. Which is weird because she doesn’t even know that he’s not home, and if she did know he wasn’t home she wouldn’t know where he was, and if she didn’t know where he was then she would have called him, but he has no missed calls so surely she thinks that he’s home. Right? Unless she’s been kidnapped and somebody else has her phone and they’re using it to try to get Evan to come home so he gets kidnapped too, and if he does get kidnapped they’ll drag him and his mom out to some warehouse somewhere and make her watch while they kill him, because it would be just his luck that he’d die in front of Heidi, and then his ghost would come back and have to watch Heidi try to move on from his death and have to start seeing a therapist to recover from the trauma but the therapist would be so expensive that Heidi would have to sell the house and the car and move in with their homophobic aunt who would probably think that Evan was kidnapped and murdered because he had a big fat gay crush on his best friend and-

“Connor, um, here, take your jacket, I’m really not that cold-”

“Look, Evan, I know you well enough by now to be able to tell when you’re lying. Don’t worry about it, okay? I have another sweatshirt in here somewhere, just give me a minute…” He crosses the room to root through his closet. 

“No, Connor, take it! Really, I don’t want it, just take it-”

“Look, Evan, I know you well enough by now to be able to tell when you’re lying. Don’t worry about it, okay? I have another sweatshirt in here somewhere, just give me a minute…” He crosses the room to root through his closest. 

“No, Connor, take it! Really, I don’t want it, just take it, _please_ .”

“Look, I already have another one on, okay. What’s the big fucking deal? It’s just a sweatshirt,” Connor says, rolling his eyes. “Come on. Let’s go downstairs and see if we need to do any damage control.”

“I don’t want your family to see me wearing your clothes! Because then they’ll think I’m gay and that we’re dating and I’m _not_ , I mean, we’re _not_. I mean. Are you? I’m not. Um. I’m not. At least, I don’t think I am. Not that there’s anything wrong with being gay, obviously! I just don’t want your family to get the wrong idea, you know!” Evan blurts, immediately clapping a hand over his mouth. “Oh my god. Sorry, sorry!”

“They’re not going to think you’re gay, Evan, holy shit. I’m just lending you a jacket.”

“... Sorry.”

“Let’s just go downstairs, okay? I need to make sure my mom isn’t crying or something.” He moves toward the hall, tugging Evan’s sleeve. “Don’t you need to, like, call your mom?”

“Why would I call my mom?”

“You’re spending the night, aren’t you?”

 

“Um, I’m sorry, what?”

“Yeah, I think our moms talked or something and _my_ mom said that you could stay over whenever _your_ mom had an overnight shift or whatever.”

Evan’s stomach flutters uncomfortably. Why hadn’t Heidi told him about this? Just to make sure Connor knows he heard him, Evan nods. “Oh. Uh. Okay.” 

“This is okay, right?” Connor asks, not unkindly. 

“What? Yeah, of course. It’s. It’s cool, I guess.” He says, shuffling his feet. 

Connor tugs his sleeves down, and picks absentmindedly at his nail polish. “Good. Um. Downstairs?” 

“Yeah, yes, I mean. Yeah.“ Connor moves toward the stairs once more, this time clambering down them. Feeling awkward, Evan hurries down after him. Cynthia is sitting quietly in the living room. Mr. Murphy is nowhere to be found. Evan loiters in the doorway while Connor slips next to his mother on the couch. 

“Mom?” He says. Evan stares at his feet; guilt pools in his stomach. If he hadn’t gotten pissed at Connor earlier, none of this would be happening. 

“Oh, honey, you startled me!” Cynthia says, voice watery and weak. For a second, she looks like she’s going to cry, but she takes a deep breath and continues talking softly to Connor, who just seems _so_ uncomfortable. Which just makes Evan feel _so_ uncomfortable, too, so he goes and sits on the stairs until Connor comes out to find him again. 

“Apparently we’re going for ice cream with Zoe,” he sighs, rolling his eyes. “Come on. We’ll wait on the porch for her.”

Which is how Evan ends up sitting in Zoe Murphy’s car for the second time in one day. Turns out, Connor hadn’t quite gotten all of the pot out of his system yet, and he spent a decent ten minutes heaving out of Zoe’s window because he “smoked too much of the good shit,” which he apparently tended to ration. After the puking, Zoe yelled at him for getting vomit on the side of her car, to which he responded by threatening to jump out. So. Zoe turned on the child locks, and Connor pouted for a while. Now, he’s fast asleep, stretched out in the backseat. The closest ice cream place to the Murphy’s house is about thirty minutes away, which leaves Evan and Zoe to make conversation alone. Evan texts his mom back to let her know that yes, he is spending the night and yes, he does have his medicine. It’s a lie, but it’s better than telling her the truth and having to explain why he left the house without the meds in the first place. 

“You’re wearing my brother’s sweatshirt,” Zoe says, breaking the silence. There’s an almost-accusation in her words, but for the life of him, Evan can’t figure out why. 

“Oh. Um. Ha, yeah, it’s funny, really, um. He lent it to me.” He chews his lip, trying to keep from asking if the jacket made him look gay. “I was cold, and he just took it off and gave it to me. Um. Sorry, hm, now that I think about it itsreallynotthatfunny-“

“No, you’re fine. I’m just surprised he even took it off, is all.” As they drive under a streetlight, Evan catches the way she tightens her grip on the wheel. “It’s like a security blanket or something. Dad used to make him take it off before dinner, but then he just snapped one night and refused. He ate standing up, because dad wouldn’t let him sit down at the table with it on.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.” She goes quiet for a few minutes. The pleasant hum of tires turning against damp concrete fills the car, and Evan picks at his fingers. “Can I ask you something?”

“Yeah, of course. Ask away.”

“Do you like him?” 

Caught off guard, Evan laughs, “Wait, what?”

“I don’t know, I just see you two together at school and- and he looks happy, Evan. He looks happy with you and I need to know if there’s something else going on there, because if you hurt him I swear to god-“

“I’m not going to hurt him!” Evan squeaks, probably too fast and too loud and definitely very rude. “Even. Even if, um, _hypothetically_ , even if I did like him, I would never hurt him.” Zoe’s onto him, Zoe’s onto him oh god she’s so totally onto him, she knows that he’s got a big dumb crush on Connor, she’s going to _tell everyone_ -

“Good.” She flips on her blinker, turning onto a windy side street. “Thanks, by the way.”

“For what?”

“For coming over tonight.”

“It’s no big deal, really, it’s not like I had anything better to do.”

“No, it means a lot to all of us. Connor, he. He hasn’t had a friend since, like, second grade.” She turns into the parking lot of a small, squat building and pulls into one of only eight spaces. Once they've gotten in, Zoe sits with the key in the ignition without saying a word. Which stresses Evan out beyond belief because, like, it seems like she's going to say something else but she just sits there. And then. Then she turns to Evan and wraps her arms around him and squeezes once, tight but not too tight. And it's enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HEY! I'm back from hiatus. Sorry for the massive update break; school started and got me all messed up. Reminder: if anyone has any questions at all, whether it be about Murphy's Law, mental health, or just saying hey, feel free to drop a comment OR hit me up on tumblr @paast-lives.


	6. say you'll be my stone

Diners have never really been Evan’s thing. They remind him of 1950s gang fights and back alley stabbings. Even though logically he knows that the ice cream parlor _isn’t_ a diner, it still has those bright red booths and the subway tile and the retro looking sign, which kind of puts Evan on edge. Without even getting out of the car, he can see that he’s not going to have a great time here. The flickering neon sign reads _À La Mode_ in a loopy, cursive script. He can’t stop thinking about his dad trying to reach out to him earlier, which is really throwing him for a loop, because he’s normally pretty great at putting the whole abandonment thing out of his head.

“Hey, Connor, we’re here,” Zoe calls, taking the keys from the ignition. When he doesn’t move, she turns on the overhead lights. 

“Fuck, Zoe, that’s bright,” Connor groans, sitting up and rubbing his eyes. “Hey, we’re here.”

“Yeah, that’s what I was saying.” The three of them climb out of her car and file into the parlor, Zoe and Connor making good-natured jabs at each other the whole way in.

“Zo, you still like the mocha chip best, right?” Connor asks after they’ve secured a booth. There’s only a couple other people in the establishment, so finding a table isn’t at all difficult. 

“What the fuck, I can’t believe you remembered that!” Zoe cries. Connor grins at her and takes Evan’s order, too, then approaches the counter. Under the buzzing fluorescent light, the circles beneath Connor’s eyes almost disappear. For a second, Evan can almost imagine what he would look like if he was completely healthy. Can almost imagine what he would be like if everything was different. The thought leaves a melancholic, burnt out feeling in his chest, so he does his best to push it away. Belatedly, Evan realizes he doesn’t have any cash on him at all, and the melancholy is replaced by guilt. As if reading his mind, Connor calls out that he’s got the check. The apprehension he was feeling about the ice cream parlor has faded, instead being replaced by a deep, quaking dread. Zoe knows, and she’s going to tell everyone that he’s in love with Connor. Evan bounces his leg. Zoe knows Zoe knows Zoe knows Zoe knows Zoe knows. 

When Connor comes back to the booth, he’s balancing three cups of ice cream precariously in one hand and has his phone in the other, scrolling through something. He puts the ice cream down and slides into the seat with Evan, which. Well. It’s certainly a choice. Zoe kind of looks back and forth between them with this weird, half grin on her face, and pulls out her phone, too. 

“Do something cute,” she says, and it’s not until this point that Evan realizes she’s _taking pictures_ , which is like in his top five fears, but his heart doesn’t even try to kick up speed. Connor rolls his eyes and offers a crooked, one sided smile, which makes Evan’s stomach do a somersault. Evan just lifts his ice cream up in front of his face because he knows his smile looks dumb, and Zoe chuckles, and Connor looks down at him with an expression akin to fondness on his face. Zoe snaps a few more pictures, but eventually decides on a candid of Connor laughing at something stupid Evan said. “Okay, I’m going to post this. What’s your username, Evan? I want to tag you.” 

“Don’t laugh, okay, it’s really dumb,” Evan warns, secretly hoping that Zoe won’t make him say it out loud. She nods encouragingly. “It’s. Hm. It’s evanspeaks_forthetrees.”

“For the record, I helped him choose that,” Connor says, drumming a rhythm on the table. “I thought it was fitting, you know. With all of his forest expertise.” 

“Jesus Christ, you’re joking right?” Zoe laughs. For a beat, she taps away on her phone. “Oh my god, you aren’t.” Evan groans. Less than five minutes pass before Jared is texting him. 

—> Jared 8:21 PM: _TELL ME UR NOT GETTING ICE CREAM W/ THE MURPHY SIBLINGS RN_

—> Jared 8:21 PM: _EVAM SERIOUSLY ANSWER MEE_

—> Jared 8:21 PM: _IM JUST GOIN TO ASSUME UR FUCKIN ONE (1) OF THEM IF U DONT ANSWER_

—> Jared 8:22 PM: _ok I cant even tell if ur getting these bc of ur stupid off brand phone dude_

—> Jared 8:22 PM: _this is getting out of hand_

—> Jared 8:24 PM: _ive given u ample time to read these, now can u pls answer me??????_

—> Evan 8:24 PM: _yes i am getting ice cream with the murphy siblings_

—> Jared 8:24 PM: _have u decided which one ur bangin yet?????????_

—> Evan 8:26 PM: _im going to block you_

—> Jared 8:26 PM: _u wouldnt_

—> Evan 8:26 PM: _watch me_

Rather than actually block him, Evan just mutes the conversation and puts his phone away. 

“Who’re you texting?” Connor asks, leaning into Evan’s space. Doesn’t he realize that he’s driving Evan crazy?

“It’s, um, it was just Jared. You know. Checking in, or whatever,” Evan says. He takes a bite of his ice cream to shut himself up. Why does Jared care, anyway? It’s not like he’s ever really been friends with Evan. He didn’t even talk to him regularly until Evan started hanging around Connor. 

“Mom says we need to be home soon,” Zoe says, glancing up from her phone. “I guess dad is still pissed or whatever.”

“Great,” Connor sighs, rubbing his temples. “Tell her that I don’t give a shit.”

“Maybe if you _did_ give a shit, dad wouldn’t be so angry,” Zoe snaps. Connor’s jaw clenches. 

“Fuck you,” he says. “I can’t believe you’re still taking his side.” 

“Why shouldn’t I?” Zoe asks. “It’s not like you ever took _my_ side.”

“Whatever.”

Beside him, Connor picks at his nail polish. Zoe is on her phone, playing a game or something. Evan takes the quiet moment to try and collect himself. The sullen, empty look has fallen over Connor’s face again, which worries Evan. The half smile from earlier is gone. A distinctly uncomfortable feeling settles behind Evan’s ribs. Connor and Zoe had been getting along _so well,_ why has it suddenly fallen apart? He’s started to get a headache, probably from missing his medicine. That’s why he’s getting so freaked out. Totally. Connor isn’t acting any different from usual, Evan just isn’t medicated. This is probably how it always is with the Murphys. Abruptly, Connor stands. 

“I’m going for a smoke,” he says, heading outside. Zoe doesn’t even look up from her phone. The streetlights flicker outside. Connor left his ice cream on the table, relatively unscathed. There’s probably only two bites out of it. 

“I’m, uh, going out...” Evan says, standing to follow Connor. Zoe makes a noncommittal sound, so Evan just leaves the table. Connor is halfway through a cigarette already, taking a deep drag from it when Evan steps out. The early October air is chilly against Evan’s face, but Connor doesn’t seem to mind the cold. He’s taken his hair out of the messy bun, and it falls around his face in an angry tangle. It makes him look more angular and sharp. 

“What the fuck do you want?” He snaps, not looking at Evan. Smoke spills from his nostrils; he looks like a dragon. 

“You seemed happy, back there. Um. What happened?” Evan stares out over the parking lot, too, not wanting to make Connor feel weird. 

“ _I_ fucking happened, Hansen. Haven’t you ever heard of Murphy’s law?” He takes another drag from his cigarette. The cherry grows brighter as he inhales. 

“I mean, yeah, but I don’t really think that applies to you,” Evan says, shifting his weight. The chill is seeping into his bones. 

“Listen, I mess everything up. Don’t even try to convince me otherwise.”

“You _don’t_ mess everything up, though.”

“I fucking do, okay? I do. I ruin everything good in my life. I can’t even manage to kill myself right.” He flicks the butt of his cigarette down and steps on it, then pulls another one out from the package in his pocket. He lights it with shaking hands.

“That’s... arguably a good thing?” Evan tries, bouncing a little to warm himself up. 

“How would you know?” Connor mumbles. “Big fucking deal, you have anxiety. That’s a lot different than whatever’s wrong with me. You don’t know what it’s like.”

“How do you think I broke my arm?” Evan cries. “Connor, when I say you’re not alone, I mean it. I’ve been there. I- I know _exactly_ what it feels like to fail at the one thing you need to get right.” He kicks at the curb, trying to get the sick feeling in his throat to dissipate.

“You told me you fell-” Connor starts.

“Well, I lied!”

“You let go?”

“Yes! I let go, and all I got was this stupid fucking broken arm! So. I get it, okay?” He sticks his hands in his pockets. “I know what you’re going through.”

“I’m... I’m so sorry, I had no idea,” Connor says. The streetlights make him look washed out, like a photograph left too long in the sun. 

“Well. Now you do, so.” He shuffles his feet. Surely his face is bright red. This isn’t something he ever intended to tell anyone, let alone Connor Murphy. Connor kind of scoots closer, and bumps his arm against Evan’s awkwardly. 

“You’re. You’re okay, or whatever, right? I mean. You’re not like- you’re not planning on dropping yourself out of anymore trees.” 

“What? No, obviously not. I mean I’m not planning to do that, no. I’m. I’m in therapy.” As if being in therapy makes him any less likely to kill himself. “Um. We should probably, like, go back inside. Um. Just in case Zoe is wondering what’s going on.”

“Yeah, um. Yeah. We should.”   
They get back to the booth just as Zoe is standing to leave.

“I was just coming to get you,” she says. “I threw away the ice cream. It seemed like you were done.”

“Okay,” Evan nods. “Um. Should we be leaving, or…?” 

“Yeah, mom’s probably having a heart attack. I told her we’d be home like fifteen minutes ago.” She holds the door open for Evan and Connor. They pile into her car, Evan taking the backseat this time, and drive home in silence. 

\---> Connor :) 8:57 PM: _sorry my sister is such a massive bitch_

 

\---> Evan 8:57 PM: _oh haha no big deal_

Connor pulls out the packet of cigarettes and gets one out.

“You can’t smoke in my car,” Zoe says. 

“Really? What’s stopping me?” He lights the cigarette, taking a generous drag.

“I swear to god, if you don’t put that out I’ll-”

“You’ll what? Tell mom and dad?”

“Yes!” She flicks on her blinker, merging onto the highway. 

“And then what? They’ll take away my car, my door, my laptop, and ground me?” He laughs dryly. “Oh, wait.”

“Connor, seriously, knock it off.” The smoke is making Evan a little bit nauseous, but he’s not about to ask Connor to put it out. An involuntary cough sneaks out. “Even Evan is tired of it.” 

“Evan can speak for himself,” Connor snaps. 

“You know what? I’ll put out the fucking cigarette for you.” Zoe reaches across the center counsel and snatches the cigarette from Connor’s mouth, then rolls down the window and flicks it out.

“Fuck you!”

“That’s… That’s actually really bad…” Evan murmurs, secretly praying that the cigarette doesn’t start a brush fire and burn the entire town down, even though he _knows_ that it will, and he’s not even going to be at home when it happens and he won’t even get to say goodbye to his mom, and everyone he loves will burn up because of Zoe Murphy. 

“See?” Zoe says. “Evan says smoking is bad.”

“That’s really not what I meant,” Evan tries, but Connor speaks over him.

“I can’t fucking believe you, Zoe, _jesus fucking christ_ -” he tries to light another, but Zoe takes the whole pack from him and pitches it from the window. “Are you kidding me?”

“Don’t smoke in my fucking car then!” Zoe shouts. Connor stays quiet, but Evan can tell he’s stewing. Surely he’ll blow up soon and start screaming or something, just absolutely lose it, and they’ll all die in a fiery car accident because of the lit cigarette that Zoe tossed, which will ignite the gas leaking from the car, and it will explode, and the highway patrol will be picking up body parts for months and they’ll never really know who died in the accident, and there will be missing posters up for all of them because their parents won’t want to believe that they were killed in the car crash, so people will be looking for the three of them for years. And then Evan’s dad will try to sue Heidi because she like, _lost_ his son or whatever, and she’ll be put in jail for neglect because he disappeared on her watch, and in prison they’ll make her clean the bathrooms and she’ll get stabbed to death by someone with a sharpened toothbrush while she’s cleaning. The rest of the car ride is silent, save for Zoe’s blinker and Evan’s bouncing foot. Connor is on his phone, face lit up by the blue glow.

\---> Connor :) 9:12 PM: _don’t worry about the cigarettes_  
\---> Evan 9:12 PM: _what do you mean_  
\---> Connor :) 9:13 PM: _i know you’re probably worried that a forest fire is going to start or something_  
\---> Evan 9:13 PM: _what no im not_  
\---> Connor :) 9:13 PM: _okay well i just want to let you know that we’re supposed to have storms tonight so even if there is a fire, it won’t go very far_

Secretly, Evan releases a breath he hadn’t even realized he was holding.

~~~~

Cynthia is on the front porch when they get back. Relief floods her face when she sees Connor get out of the car. 

“I was so worried,” she says, throwing her arms around him. He flinches away from the contact, clearly not expecting it. “I tried to call you, but you didn’t pick up!”

“Phone died,” Connor mumbles. He’s lying through his teeth. “Can we go inside? It’s freezing out here.”  
“Of course, baby,” Cynthia coos. Uncomfortable, Evan trails behind as Cynthia, Zoe, and Connor walk inside. “I figured you boys would want to stay in the basement tonight, so I cleaned up a little bit.” 

“Great,” Connor says. “Thanks, mom.” He leads Evan down the creaky steps, flipping the light switch on at the bottom. The basement is finished, which is weird, because Evan’s never really been in a finished basement before. Jared’s parents converted their basement into a wine cellar years before Jared was born, so it’s not like that really counts. Carpet is laid from wall to wall, unlike the upstairs. There are old posters hung up in nice, clean looking frames. There’s even a pullout couch, which Cynthia has apparently made up already. “Um. Do you want to watch a movie or something?”

“Yeah, yes. Sure.” 

“You look kind of freaked, dude, what’s up?”

“What?”

“Are you… Good, I guess?”

“Oh, yeah. I’m fine. Um. Movies?” Hurriedly, Evan goes over to the entertainment center (who even has one of those in real life?) and kneels to search through the seemingly endless array of dvds. Honestly, this is overwhelming. He had expected to just spend the night in Connor’s room, with no door and no privacy, but an entire basement with no one else around? It’s a lot to take in. Connor kneels beside him, long legs folding gracefully. 

“We could just find something on tv, if you want. I mean. I mean obviously we don’t have to watch a movie, I just thought…” Connor gestures indecisively. Evan’s hands are getting so sweaty again. This is not going at all how he had planned. Nervous energy kind of bubbles up inside of him, which is gross because it’s making him feel like he’s going to burp or throw up which he can’t afford to do, he’s already made things awkward enough.

“No, yeah, a movie’s fine. A movie would be great, actually!” Connor shuffles through a stack, pausing to read the titles of a few. “Whichever one you want, I really don’t- it, um, it doesn’t matter to me.”

“Oh. Okay, um. What about this one?” He holds out a nondescript action movie. 

“Yeah, um. Sure, if that’s what you want.” Connor pops the video into the DVD player, standing up unceremoniously. 

“So. Um. We can put the bed back if you just want the couch, I guess. Or. Um. We could just leave it out?” Connor suggests, scratching the back of his neck.   
“We can just leave it out,” Evan says. This awkwardness, this _tension_ is so weird. “If that’s easy, I mean. Duh.” 

“Okay, cool. Good.”

“Great.”

“Awesome.”

They end up side by side on the pullout couch, Connor folded in on himself and Evan picking at his shoes. It makes Evan sad, honestly, because this weirdness between them is new and he doesn’t know why everything has suddenly gotten so shitty. The bed shakes because Evan is bouncing his leg so hard. Time passes, and neither of them are actually watching the movie. Instead, Connor is picking at his nail polish and staring at his hands which reminds Evan so much of the first day they ever hung out, when Connor refused to answer questions and bought him tea and held his hand. The end credits are rolling and Evan is sure he hasn’t caught a second of the movie, because he’s just been too focused on how uncomfortable he is, which is stupid because he would be less uncomfortable if he could do normal things like watch movies instead of sit and mourn the loss of his little bubble of anxiety. Who even likes being anxious? That’s so weird, nobody likes having anxiety, but he kind of got used to being a little (a lot) nervous around people at all times. Now, this stress has been replaced with something else, something bigger and newer, and he wishes he could pull his walls back up and stop letting Connor in. A few more silent minutes. Connor doesn’t even look like he knows the movie is over. Evan hasn’t even checked to make sure he’s okay, and he feels so bad about it, because normally when Connor is this zoned out he’s really stressed or angry about something. And knowing this freaks Evan out, because he never imagined that he would know someone well enough to be able to read their moods. Now he doesn’t want to risk bothering Connor. Like, he knows that he should be making sure he’s not plotting to kill the entire student body or something but he can’t work up the nerve to do it. Luckily, his phone rings, breaking the silence. Evan picks it up without even thinking, just for something to do with his hands.

“Hello?”

“Hey, kiddo!” It’s his dad. Connor looks at him like _what the fuck_ like _who would call you of all people_ and Evan couldn’t agree more.

“Um. Hey, dad.” Connor’s eyes go wide and he whispers _your dad?_

“I tried to text you earlier, but you didn’t respond,” he says. “What’s up? I feel like I haven’t seen you in forever!”

“Oh, ha. Yeah. Um, my- my phone died,” Evan lies, taking a page out of Connor’s book rather than telling him the truth, which is that he was having a panic attack on the bathroom floor when he texted. “Sorry, I’m. I’m actually at my friend’s house right now, so-”

“Oh, shit, sorry! I’ll let you go. It was nice talking to you, kiddo.” Evan goes to hang up, but Connor snatches the phone from him.

“Hi, this is Connor, Evan’s friend,” Connor starts. Evan reaches to take the phone back, but Connor stands up too fast for Evan to get ahold of it. “Yes, sir, he’s my best friend.”

“Connor, seriously…” 

“Yes, sir, it was nice talking to you too, but I’m not quite done yet-” Connor is pacing now. Evan sits, terrified at the thought of Connor getting into it with his dad. “Listen, I know I’m overstepping my bounds here, but you don’t know what you’re missing out on. Evan is an amazing person, and you- you can’t just decide when you’re interested in him. You haven’t been there for him when he’s needed you. I bet you don’t even know what he’s majoring in.”

“Hey, Connor, you really don’t have to do this-” Connor lowers the phone.

“No, Evan, I do.” He raises the phone once more. “Yes, sir, I’m still here. No, sir, I’m not putting Evan back on.” There’s a brief pause. “It absolutely is my business. Why? Because I care about him- Well, you have an awfully funny way of showing it!” Abruptly, Connor pulls the phone away from his ear. “He hung up.”

“You didn’t have to do that.” Evan stands, meets Connor where he’s standing in the middle of the room. “Really. I mean. You’re amazing, Jesus, _thank you_. I mean.”

“You’re not- Um. You’re- fuck, Evan.” Connor’s face is bright red. 

“Sorry, sorry, shit. Nobody’s ever- I never expected- it’s just. I’ve never known anyone like you, you’re incredible.” Gone is the discomfort, the awkwardness, the weird feeling. 

“Yeah, whatever,” Connor sighs, rolling his eyes. “Dude, I’m tired as fuck. Let’s just lay down, okay? I can’t imagine that you’re feeling so hot either.” 

“Oh, ha. Sure. Bed?”

“Bed.”

~~~~

Evan can’t sleep. It’s like, four a.m., and he’s lying as still as he can next to Connor because he doesn’t want to take a chance on waking him up. As dark as the circles under Connor’s eyes are, he seems to be sleeping just fine. In fact, Evan’s pretty sure that Connor was asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow. He’s tried everything. Counting sheep, singing the ABCs, holding his breath, clenching up every muscle in his body one by one until he felt like a pressure cooker about to explode… But nothing helped. He’s just. Wired. _Go to sleep go to sleep go to sleep go to sleep go to sleep-_

“Seriously, you fucking suck at pretending to sleep,” Connor says. Startled, Evan jumps about a mile in the air because when can he ever do anything that doesn’t completely embarrass himself?

“You scared me, what the hell-”

“I’m going for a smoke, do you want anything while I’m up?” Connor says, standing. Patting his pockets in search of another pack of cigarettes, Connor sidesteps around the pullout and toward the stairs. He hadn’t even taken his sweatshirt off, which should have been a massive indicator that he wasn’t asleep. 

“I’ll just come with you,” Evan says. Fumbling in the dark, Evan slides his shoes on. Connor (from what Evan can see) shrugs, and heads up the stairs.

“It’s cold out, are you sure? I was actually going to take a walk.”

“I’ll come! I mean. As- as long as it’s okay with you.” 

“Yeah, cool.” Swinging open the backdoor, Connor steps out into the frigid air. As soon as they’re outside, Connor lights a cigarette and inhales deeply. Under the moonlight, Evan can see his shoulders relax.

“So… Did you get any sleep at all?”

“Hm? Oh, I don’t think so. Um. I don’t really- I _can’t_ really sleep. It’s… It’s hard.” Nighttime softens Connor. Sometime between ten thirty and four, he’d pulled his hair back into the bun, so Evan can see his pierced ears and the smattering of freckles across the side of his face. 

“That really sucks.”

“Yeah.” They walk side by side, not talking much. Connor goes through half a pack before either of them makes an effort to restart the conversation. Feeling lost and exhausted, Evan just follows along, not knowing what to say or do. Connor’s neighborhood, though not far from Evan’s, is incredibly fancy. “Out of place” is the only thing Evan can think to describe himself as here. Several of the houses on his street have visible security cameras, and the whole thing is lined with massive old birch trees. In his head, Evan lists the scientific classification for each tree, shrub, and bush they pass, just to have something other than his big gay crush to think about. He feels jittery and burnt out, like someone lit a match inside of him and let it eat up everything except the outermost layer of skin. Needless to say, it’s a shitty feeling. The rest of the walk is quiet, save for occasional smalltalk. By the time they get back to the Murphy’s, the sun is just breaking the horizon.

“Oh! I meant to, to uh. To ask you, earlier. Um. What, uh, what was wrong with Alana at lunch today?” Evan asks, feeling equally relieved and dumb. Connor cracks the back door open slowly, muttering something about how it sticks sometimes. They clamber back down the stairs, where Evan is immediately warmer.

“Jeez, that feels like forever ago. She just. Well. I guess Zoe told her what happened at the beginning of the year?” He must catch Evan’s confusion, because he kind of coughs and scuffs his feet and ends up mumbling, “You know. The. When I tried to, like, kill myself or whatever? Anyway, she was just, like. Checking in. A lot. Because she, um. She told me that she’d been there, that she, like, _tried_ after her grandma died. So.”

“I never would have thought that Alana- that just seems so. So out of character for her.” The two of them kick off their shoes, and Evan peels the jacket from himself. Though chilled to the bone, he’s still kind of clammy, so the light cotton stuck to his arms in a really horrible, annoying way.

“Yeah. She’s in therapy now, and she recommended some practices to me, but. You heard my dad tonight, it’s not like he’d even be willing to look at the list.” He sits down on the pullout, back to Evan, and takes his jacket off, too. 

“I could talk to him? If you want, obviously. You deserve therapy, if you think it will help.” 

“Thanks, but I wouldn’t want to put you out like that. You know how he can be. He’d probably just start quoting statistics at you about how kids in therapy are like, ten times more likely to attempt suicide, or some other bullshit like that.” He tucks his legs back under the blanket and slides down. Back to back, Evan can almost feel Connor breathing. “Anyway. Um. Goodnight, I guess?”

“Yeah, cool. Try to sleep.”

“Ha.” Misery bounces around behind his ribs, clattering against each one individually as he goes through the motions of faking sleep again. He rolls over onto his back.

“Connor?”

“Hm?”

“You’re really great, you know?”

“Don’t fuck with me. I’m not in the mood.”

“No, I mean it. I don’t know where I would be if I didn’t know you.”

“Stop.”

“Hey,” Evan says, willing Connor to turn around and face him. “Connor, hey.” When Connor doesn’t turn, Evan does possibly the stupidest thing he’s ever done and sort of makes a grab for Connor’s arm. Which doesn’t even feel like an arm. Alarmed, Evan lets go and makes a really ugly, startled sound. “Connor-”

“I don’t want to talk about it.” Despite this, he rolls over so they’re face to face. In the dim light, Evan can just make out raised, silvery skin lining Connor’s forearms. Connor bites his lip. Against every warning bell signalling frantically in his head, Evan reaches out to touch one of the scars. They’re angry, vicious. The mark of a battle hard fought. Scabs that go up to the elbow. His stomach drops out. What if Connor had actually died? 

“Did you… You. You did this to yourself?”

“Yes.”

“I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry, what the fuck-”

“That’s- I don’t even know what to say, Connor.”

“Don’t say anything. I told you I didn’t want to talk about it, anyway.” 

“Why?”

“Why what?” Connor huffs, frustration spilling. He pulls his arms back to his chest, folding his hands up under his chin. They are so close.

“You- you. You’re so sad, Connor, I didn’t even realize-”

“Yeah, well, why did you think I tried to fucking kill myself?” The floor could swallow Evan whole and he still be thinking about this.

“I’m glad you’re still here.”

“That makes one of us,” Connor gripes. Unintentionally, almost unconsciously, Evan takes his hands. Uncurls his tightly clenched fingers. Rubs away the halfmoon indents in his palms. Has he ever seen Connor in anything other than long sleeves?

“Connor-”

“Listen, Evan, I don’t need you to lecture me.”

“I wasn’t going to. I just. I. How long has it been, since the last time you- since the last time this happened?” Connor doesn’t answer. He squares his jaw and refuses to meet Evan’s eye. “Connor.”

“What?” He snaps.

“How long?” Again, Connor doesn’t answer. He sighs heavily. Evan can nearly feel him roll his eyes. “Can I- Can I see?” Connor makes a noise somewhere between a laugh and a sob.

“God, can’t we just go to sleep?”

Evan squeezes Connor’s hands. “I’m so sorry. I am so, so sorry.”

“Stop,” Connor says weakly. The grey morning light catches his scars, and Evan has to close his eyes for a second. How awful is it that Connor hurts so badly inside that the only way to fix it is to bring the hurt to the surface? If Evan didn’t know better, he’d think Connor was crying. “It’s not a big deal, anyway.”

“Okay,” Evan breathes. Wanting to talk through this, to jump past it, to make sure Connor is safe clearly isn’t going to do anything, at least not tonight. Connor closes his eyes, breathing deeply.

“Hey, Evan?”

“Yeah?” 

“I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“Just. Just that I’m like this. Like, like such a mess, you know? You shouldn’t have to deal with me.”

“You apologize a lot, you know?” Connor offers a dry chuckle, and as much as Evan wants to scream and shout and cry and ask why why why why why, he holds his tongue and lets Connor shift impossibly closer. They fall asleep in a tangle of blankets and legs and arms wrapped tightly. It’s the closest Evan’s ever been to happy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is a really rough update but i hope you all like it!!


	7. I've been afraid of changing

Temple with Jared on Saturday goes about as well as Evan could have expected, considering. Well. Everything. The amount of jokes he makes about Evan sleeping with “Connor _Fucking_ Murphy!” is ridiculous and excessive. After the service is over, he kind of corners Evan and has words with him, which royally ruins Evan’s mood. Of course, it doesn’t help that all Evan can even begin to think about is Connor cutting himself, and what if Connor did it again while Evan was at temple, and what if Connor’s arms fell off because they got infected, and what if what if what if. 

“Hello, Evan, are you even listening?” Jared snaps, waving his hands to get Evan’s attention. “I swear to God. You can’t even pay attention to me for five minutes.”

“Sorry, sorry, I’ve just got a lot on my mind-” Connor waking up alone because Evan had run to the bathroom as soon as he was up, Connor being by himself with his family, Connor smoking half a pack of cigarettes and pacing the neighborhood- “Sorry.”

“Yeah, whatever.”

“What is your problem?” Evan asks, stopping to unpin his kippot at the doors. “For someone who’s always, like, insisted that we were just family friends, you’re. You’re being awfully clingy.”

“What is _my_ problem?” Jared says. “I’ve been your only friend for what, seventeen, eighteen years? And all of the sudden you leave me in the dust for Connor _fucking_ Murphy? You’re even wearing his clothes, Evan, _Jesus._ ”

“You’re joking, right?” Jared stops in his tracks, right in the middle of the parking lot.

“Absolutely not. You owe me. I could have stopped hanging around you years ago, but I didn’t. Now all you do is talk about that school-shooter _freak-_ ”

“Fine, then. Stop hanging out with me. I don’t give a shit. It’s not like you ever showed an interest before, but whatever.”

“Good luck getting a ride home, asshole!” Jared leaves him standing alone in the parking lot. _Fuck._ Heidi is at home sleeping, so it’s not like Evan can call her for a ride. There isn’t a bus stop for miles. Not that he’d be able to take the bus, anyway, because he doesn’t even have any money on him for the bus fare. The only option he even has is to call the Murphy’s and see if Zoe can get him, because there’s no way that he can walk home from here. Truthfully, he doesn’t even know where he is. But he doesn’t want to inconvenience Zoe further. So he sits on the curb and tries to figure out what to do, heart beating erratically. There’s no good options. Plus, he feels bad because people keep looking at him as they walk to their cars, and one old lady even asked him if he needed help.  
\---> Connor :) 11:57 AM: _guess how pathetic i am_

\---> Evan 11:57 AM: _idk probably not as pathetic as me_

\---> Connor :) 12:00 PM: _you’d be surprised_

\---> Evan 12:00 PM: _what makes you say that_

\---> Connor :) 12:02 PM: _you’ve only been gone for like three hours and i’m already texting you in a panic_

\---> Evan 12:02 PM: _what are you panicking about_

\---> Connor :) 12:03 PM: _i don’t even know man. you’re just not here and zoe’s being a bitch and i jsut_

\---> Connor :) 12:03 PM: _are you still with kleinman_

\---> Evan 12:03 PM: _no he left_

\---> Connor :) 12:05 PM: _left your house or_

\---> Evan 12:05 PM: _no ha he left me at his temple_

\---> Connor :) 12:05 PM: _wait actually?????_

\---> Connor :) 12:05 PM: _where are you?????? like what’s the address??_

\---> Evan 12:06 PM: _i dont know its just a huge synagogue you cant miss it_

\---> Connor :) 12:10 PM: _i’m calling you_

Evan’s phone rings a moment later. The parking lot is empty by now, and Evan is grateful for Connor’s jacket.

“What road is it off of?” Connor asks as soon as Evan picks up.

“Wait, are you in the car? It sounds like you’re in the car.”

“Yeah, I am.” 

“How are you in the car? I thought you couldn’t drive?”

“No, I can. I was grounded. My dad’s out golfing or something and I told mom it was an emergency, so.”

“Oh,” Evan says. “Thanks. You. You really don’t have to come. I mean. Thank you.” Connor doesn’t say anything for a few minutes.

“What’s the synagogue called?”

“I’m pretty sure it’s Temple Israel, but. I. I don’t normally go here, so.” He paces back and forth. He can feel the anxiety bubbling up inside of him, anticipating something. 

“Oh! I know where that it, yeah. Okay, cool. I’ll be there in like, ten minutes.” Time passes quickly when you’re fending off a panic attack. Connor’s there before Evan can even think about what to say. 

“Hey,” Evan says, hopping in the passenger’s side. His eyes immediately go to Connor’s arms. Which. Which are obviously, intentionally bare. At least, his forearms are. He’s got a sweater on, sleeves rolled up to his elbows. “Um. Hey.”

Connor gives him a watery smile. He’s clearly uncomfortable. “Where to?”

“I don’t know, um. Home?” In the bright daylight, Evan can make out countless marks on Connor’s arms. Seeing the scars (and scabs, and the gauze taped into the crook of his elbow) without the muddiness of exhaustion clouding his senses really freaks him out. 

“So why exactly did Kleinman leave you out here by yourself?” Connor asks after a few minutes of unbearable silence. 

“He, uh. He’s mad that I actually have a good friend.” 

“That’s really fucked up,” Connor says. Out of the corner of his eye, Evan catches the way Connor’s brow furrows. “God.”

“It’s whatever, I guess.” He picks at a loose thread. Silence falls over them again. The roads are relatively empty for a Saturday afternoon, so it doesn’t take long to get back to Evan’s house. “Thanks, Connor. Seriously, you’re. You’re a lifesaver.”

“Ha,” Connor says, face going pink. Too late, Evan realizes the implications of the comment. Heidi’s car is parked outside when Connor pulls up to the house, so Evan kind of just hops out without even thinking to invite Connor inside, which is just as well because Connor is apparently in one of his scary quiet moods. So Connor drives away pretty much as soon as Evan’s out of the car. Which. Whatever. Inside, Evan can smell the garbage that no one had been home to take out. It’s his job, his responsibility to make sure the house stays clean and bug free, because Heidi is never home to do it, so it’s really humiliating for her to come home to a dirty house. Not that she even cares, for the most part, it just makes Evan feel bad because she works so hard, she deserves to be comfortable at home. She’s probably puking in the upstairs bathroom because she took a step into the kitchen to get her coffee and smelled the trash. Quickly, Evan takes the trash out and wipes down the counter, which he knows is covered in crumbs from Thursday night that neither of them had gotten around to cleaning yet. The television is on in the living room but Heidi is asleep on the couch, so Evan puts the tv on mute and shuts the shades. He read once about a man who fell asleep in front of a window and woke up blind, so he always makes sure to close whatever window coverings he can. She hadn’t even managed to take her shoes off. Against his better judgement, he leaves Heidi in the living room and climbs the stairs to his own bedroom. He hasn’t written a letter to Dr. Sherman in a while, and he knows he should be working on the scholarship essays. Knows he should be at least trying to be a good, normal son. So. He pulls out his laptop and tries to think of what he could possibly say. There’s no way he could include anything about how much he wants to die, so he forces himself to write with an idea rather than just stream of consciousness. At the same time, he can’t muster up the energy to lie the way he normally does, so while he does manage to keep himself from writing “I want to fucking die,” in bold type, the letter is still tragic and unenthusiastic and more honest than he’d intended. His heart hurts. 

_Dear Evan Hansen,_   
_Being a senior isn’t fun. In fact, nothing is fun. Connor is sad and so are you. There isn’t much else to say. He let you borrow his jacket, which was nice. He’s probably not getting it back. That’s about the only good thing to come out of this week. Hang in there, or whatever._   
_Sincerely, Me_

After a while, he starts reading through the essay prompts. Just to see what Heidi picked for him. The first one is about childhood memories, so that’s an immediate no. The next few are about hopes for the future, plans, dreams- the only real, tangible hope that Evan has is that he’ll be in a box in the ground. These essays are pointless. It’s not like he’s going to get into any colleges, anyway. He’d probably be waitlisted and then waitlisted again and again and again until he finally withdrew his application and went to community college instead. He ends up bullshitting his way through one of the childhood memories essays. He talks about his dad, how he was his best friend until age seven, when he walked out. He talks about the Brunnera plants. The laptop is getting hot, so he shuts it off and tries to convince himself that that it is not, in fact, a cheap knock off from Sam’s Club. He tries to pick up a book and read, but he can’t focus on the words. He goes on a walk, instead, and tries not to think about Connor. But. He fails miserably, and spends the whole walk asking himself what-if questions. What if Connor driving him home was a goodbye, and he’s going to kill himself right now? What if his ghost comes back and haunts the shit out of Evan, only taking breaks to torment Jared and check on Zoe? When he gets back, he rushes up to his room to hyperventilate a little bit before dry swallowing a Xanax and forcing the top half of his body out of his window to get some fresh air to spill into his lungs. Downstairs, Evan can hear Heidi clattering around the kitchen, finally awake. She thumps up the stairs and barges into Evan’s room without bothering to knock. Hurriedly, Evan pulls himself back out of the window and straightens his shirt out, trying desperately to look normal.

“Hey, honey, how’d it go last night?” She asks, sitting down on the edge of the bed.  
“Oh. Good, yeah.” He twists the hem of his shirt. “Connor’s great.”

“You’ve been spending an awful lot of time with Connor lately, baby, I’m so glad you’re branching out!” Evan senses a but. “But you do know he’s allowed to come over here, right?”

“Yes, duh. I know how friendships work.” From here on out, then. 

“Unless you don’t want me to meet him-” Heidi starts.

“No, of course I want you to! It’s just, it’s just the timing, you know.”

“Well, good. How about a taco Tuesday next week? We haven’t done one of those in a while.”

He’s got his back pressing into the desk. The rim is digging uncomfortably into his skin, and he’s definitely going to have a mark there, but he knows that he won’t be able to move without his joints being creaky and jerky like an action figure, like a boxed up plastic version of himself. “Yeah, good sounds- sounds good, I mean. Jesus. That sounds good, mom.”

“Really? Oh, that’s great! I’ll call in sick, we can get a movie from Redbox or something... This is fantastic, Evan!” The phone rings downstairs, startling Heidi from her unrelenting enthusiasm. “I’ve gotta get that, babe, but come down later and we can plan this! I’m just so excited!” She bounces out of the room, just as exuberant as ever. As soon as she’s gone, Evan is out of the window again, trying to gulp down enough air to keep from passing out but not so much that he, like, over-oxygenates or something. If that’s even a thing. Is that a thing? He doesn’t know, but it sounds like it could be. People are probably staring at him. Everyone is always walking their dogs, constantly, literally twenty-four-seven, so they’re definitely watching him hang listlessly from his window and their dogs are all staring, too. And everyone in the whole neighborhood (maybe the whole city) is thinking that he’s so pathetic because he can’t even sneak out of the house like a normal teenager, even though he’s _not_ trying to sneak out. He’s just. Trying to breathe. His pulse pounds in his ears, dizzyingly loud. When he was little, he imagined that the rhythmic hammering of his heart was a troop of cavemen stomping around his body, and the more he could hear, the closer the cavemen were to climbing out of his ears and spilling onto his shoulders. Once they were out of his ears they would bludgeon him to death with their little clubs. Then, when his mom came to get him up for school in the morning, she would find him covered in blood and bruises and it would look like some invisible attacker had climbed through his window and killed him. When he went to Colorado to visit his dad, he hadn’t slept for two or three days in a row because he was too scared to die there. Of course, his dad just didn’t get it, and thought Evan was too excited to sleep. And his stepmom was pregnant, so she took up a lot of his dad’s attention. And there was already one little tiny baby in the house. Evan slept the whole flight home. 

The window sill is digging uncomfortably into his stomach, so he leverages himself back inside and sits down on the floor. He still has Connor’s sweatshirt on.

He has no plans to take it off.

—-> Evan 2:15 PM: _youre coming over tuesday bc my mom is freaking out_

—-> Evan 2:16 PM: _I mean as long as thats ok with you_

—-> Connor :) 2:35 PM: _ok_

Eventually, he has to go back to his bed and do more homework, but it feels like a fruitless effort. Rain pounds on the rooftop; didn’t Connor mention something about storms? He’s getting jittery, trying to do all of his homework at once. What’s the point, anyway? Homework is useless, in the end. He loses motivation about halfway through his AP Psych essay, and puts his laptop away. Boredom sets in quickly, but he can’t think of anything to do. He tries to read, but stares at the same page for fifteen minutes without absorbing anything. He tries to go downstairs, but keeps stalling out at his door and can’t make it through the threshold. He tries to drink some water, but can’t make himself swallow and ends up having to spit out, and how gross is that? Heidi calls him down to dinner, and he feebly shouts “I’m doing homework, mom!” She responds with something he doesn’t quite catch, but it seems pretty normal and mundane so he doesn’t force himself to worry about it. A breath of relief escapes him, and he ends up finishing his homework before going to sleep without so much as saying goodnight to Heidi. 

~~~~

He gets his cast off Sunday, and feels a pang of something sour when he realizes he won’t have to look at Connor’s name scrawled across his arm anymore. 

~~~~

Monday morning rolls around, and surfing a wave of deja vu, Evan prepares himself for school. Out of bed. Clothes on. Teeth brushed. Hair combed. Socks. Shoes. Lather, rinse, repeat. He wears Connor’s jacket, because he figures that he’ll get to school early enough to stuff it in his locker before anyone sees. But. He doesn’t. Instead, he gets to his first period with barely a minute to spare after spilling his backpack in the hall and having to chase after all of his pencils because people kept kicking them, and it was really awful, and he’s gotten sweaty (IN! CONNOR'S! JACKET!) and everyone saw everything. They’re probably all talking about how gay he looks, wearing another boy’s (CONNOR MURPHY’S) jacket. And. And surely, certainly, Jared has told anyone who will listen that Evan is sleeping with Connor. Which he’s not. Sure, they slept in the same bed for like four hours, but that doesn’t mean anything. Does it?

_Oh, shit._

Does it mean something? 

It’s doesn’t. And even if it does, it probably doesn’t mean anything to Connor, right?

So. He gets to Environmental Science right as the bell rings, skidding into his seat before his teacher can start calling role. This is pretty much the only class he even cares about, which makes it slightly more bearable, but he spends most of the period worrying about what Connor will say when he sees that Evan is _still_ wearing his dumb sweatshirt. His stomach is in knots for hours. He can’t even bring himself to smile at Alana, who bounces to him after fourth period to ask about his AP Psych paper. And then he realizes he hasn’t seen Connor at all. Not once. Not even in passing. And normally if Connor was going to skip, he’d at least say something to Evan. And lately, Connor has been making an effort to actually show up. And today, Connor isn’t here. 

Which makes Evan’s whole body seize up. 

“Evan? Are you alright?” Alana asks, pressing a cool palm to his forehead. Evan catches his reflection in her glasses; he’s gone scary pale, like dead boy pale. “You don’t feel warm… Do you need to lie down?”

“No, I’m. I’m fine, I’m sorry, I’m fine.” He looks away to pull out his phone and check for messages. 

Nothing. 

—-> Evan 11:56 AM: _hey youre not at school_

—-> Evan 12:15 PM: _hello??_

He doesn’t get a response. 

The rest of the day passes by in a blur. He’s used to being nervous all over, like his whole body, but this is a very centralized, concentrated nervousness that is sitting somewhere behind his ribs and tightening with every minute that passes. This is fine. Everything is fine and normal. Connor seemed fine yesterday when Evan had texted him about getting his cast off- he probably just slept in and forgot to tell Evan he’d be missing school. Not probably, definitely. That has to be what happened. It _has_ to. Zoe doesn’t make eye contact with him when he passes her in the hall, which totally _isn’t_ a sign that something horrible has happened. If something horrible _had_ happened, she would have told him by now. Jared also manages to spend the entire day ignoring Evan, which is just great. Wonderful. Everything is amazing. Everything is fine and normal and fine and normal and fine and normal. 

Fine and normal. Sure. As if anything with Evan was ever fine or normal. 

Okay. 

Okay, okay. Steady breaths. The end of the school day blurs into the end of the actual night and by Tuesday morning, he’s doing it all over. 

Out of bed. Clothes on. Teeth brushed. Hair combed. Socks. Shoes. Lather, rinse, repeat. 

He texts Connor again. And again, and again. He never gets an answer. So, Connor’s out on a bender. That’s fine. That’s _normal_. That’s _Connor_. He sits in the library for lunch, praying that Connor will just happen to check his phone and see the half dozen messages from Evan. This has to be okay. Connor will just show up to his house tonight as planned, with long sleeves and wild hair and bags under his eyes. It’ll be normal. He might be high, but Evan is capable of dealing with that now. As the school day winds down without word, Evan’s nerves fray one by one. Zoe would have told him if Connor was grounded. He couldn’t have gotten suspended over the weekend; he didn’t do anything bad. Slowly, then all at once, the panic begins to set in. Connor could be dead in a ditch. He could have run off and joined a biker gang and gotten shot. He could be doing hard drugs with strangers.

Like. Crack, or something. 

He walks home, and immediately notices that Heidi isn’t there. Which is funny, considering the whole “Taco Tuesday” thing was her idea. Evan chuckles dryly. Of course she forgot. Why would she remember? It’s not like she literally never spends any quality time with her son or anything. Whatever. So he’s alone again. Big fucking deal. 

~~~~

Turns out, it is a big fucking deal. He finds a note stuck to the fridge with a twenty dollar bill and the Chinese menu is out on the counter. A solid ten minutes pass before he makes up his mind to leave the money on the fridge and find some cereal or something. The only thing he can find in any of the cabinets is an old packet of instant oatmeal, so he makes that and trudges back to his room with the bowl. He turns his phone off and struggles through some math before giving up and reading for half an hour. When Heidi comes in to say goodnight, he pretends to be asleep. Around ten thirty, he gets tired of blinking up at the ceiling, so he turns his phone back on just to see if Connor ever responded. He didn’t. Which just throws Evan even more off balance, because if Connor still had his phone, he would have texted or called or something. This has been two days of radio silence. Surely Zoe would have checked in with him if something major had happened. This is a new kind of anxious. He’s never had anyone to really worry about before, but now. Now, he has someone who’s so not okay, who he wants to look after, who he needs to check on all the time. And he’s not answering his fucking phone. So Evan takes the initiative and decides to just call him instead of texting, but something thumps outside and throws him off. Against every warning bell singing frantically in his head, he rushes downstairs to make sure nobody’s trying to break in. As much as he wants to die, he isn’t keen on Heidi getting killed, so he just needs to make sure that whoever is breaking in doesn’t hurt her. If anyone is even breaking in. Someone is definitely breaking in. The stairs creak on his way down, startling him. By the time he’s reached the front door, he’s reasonably shaken. The blender in his head had roared to life as soon as he left his room, leaving his mind all mixed up and confused, but also spinning the thought that he is undoubtedly _going to die_ around and around relentlessly. He jiggles the front door handle and holds his breath, hoping to God that it’s locked. Which. It is. He checks the back, and the basement, and all the windows, and then does it all over again in reverse order. This time he decides to step out into the cool air just to make sure nobody’s out there, but also because he’s kind of embarrassed that he even got so freaked out in the first place so he really needs to get some air because his face is like, _on fire._ So he unlocks the front door and steps out. And immediately kicks something. 

“Connor?” Jesus Christ. If his heart wasn’t already going a mile a minute, it would have jumped right out of his chest. 

“... yeah?”

“It’s like, midnight.”

“Yeah.”

“Come in.”

Connor stands, unfolding his tightly tucked limbs. He follows Evan inside. Normally, he would be talking right now. Normally, he would be explaining whatever the hell is going on. Clearly tonight isn’t normal. 

“Do you want to go to my room or…?”

Connor just nods and wipes angrily at his eyes. They head upstairs in silence, and both of them flinch when they hit the creaky floorboard. Honestly, Evan is pissed. After two whole days of absolute silence, Connor just shows up at his house without warning? What gives him the right to do that? It’s messed up, and sets him on edge, but when he tries to ask why Connor’s here, the words get stuck in his throat. Evan flicks the lights on once they get back to his room, and Connor glances around briefly before kicking his shoes off and throwing himself unceremoniously into Evan’s bed. 

“Connor-”

“What?” He mumbles into Evan’s blanket. Evan’s hands are so sweaty. 

“Can you please look at me? Just. Just,” Connor sits up, rubs his eyes again. The anger he’s been feeling fades upon actually getting a good look at Connor’s face. His eyes are raw red and puffy, but he’s expressionless. “Christ, Connor, you scared me. God. You _scared_ me.” And just like that, Connor’s face falls. He hiccups, and Evan is across the room in record time to wipe away the tears, and he’s scared all over again. Connor’s fingers bracelet his wrists as he cries and cries, and Evan is powerless to do anything but hold him there. He’s never cried like this before. God, sure, a couple angry tears had leaked out, but nothing compared to this. 

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he says, pulling back from Evan. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to do this. I never meant for this to happen, I didn’t want-”

“What are you talking about, Connor?”

“I didn’t want you to see me like this, god-”

“Connor, stop, hey, you’re fine-”

“It wasn’t supposed to be like this-”

“Tell me what’s happening, _please_ -”

Connor keeps babbling nonsense, apologies and non-sequiturs. Nothing is making any sense and Evan needs the context, needs to know what the hell is going on, because Connor is just so upset and there’s nothing Evan can do to fix it. Eventually, Connor stops talking and just sobs, just fucking sobs into Evan’s shoulder and Evan is so scared that he’s going to make himself sick. Evan’s (Connor’s) sweatshirt is soaked through, but all Evan can do is squeeze him tight and pray that he’ll tell him what’s going on. His phone lights up on the bed, but he’s not about to let go of Connor, so he lets it go to voicemail. Slowly, the tears subside, and Connor gets really, really quiet. The room feels like it’s collapsing in on itself. All of the air has been sucked out. His phone rings again. Connor shifts. 

“You should, um. You should get that.” He pulls back, hangs his head. His shoulders curve in, defensively. “Sorry.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, just answer it.”

“I’ll just be a minute, I promise.” He steps into the hall, shutting his door softly behind him.

It’s Zoe. 

“Evan, thank god, is he with you?”

“What?”

“Connor. It’s Connor. Please just tell me he’s with you.” She sounds desperate.

“Yeah, Zoe, he’s here. Why?”

She breathes a sigh of relief. “He didn’t tell you?”

“No, he just showed up. He’s really upset-”

“Yeah, well. Dad kicked him out.”

“He- he _what?_ ”

“They got into it last night, and dad kicked him out. He said that Connor’s not welcome back until he, like, grows up or something.”

“What does that even mean? I mean. I mean, what were they fighting about?” He picks at a loose thread on his shirt. Jesus. 

“Therapy.”

“Oh.” Of course they were fighting about therapy. Of course. 

“Can I talk to him?”

“I don’t think that’s the best idea,” Evan says. “He’s really… um. I don’t know how to describe it. I’m worried he might do something.”

“He told dad- he said, ‘I swear to fucking god, I’m going to kill myself,’ and dad just. He. He, uh, told Connor to get over himself. And to stop making a scene.” She takes a deep, shuddery breath. “This all happened last night. It was, like, really bad. And he wasn’t at home this morning when I left for school, or when I got back. I don’t know what to do.”

“I’m glad he came here,” Evan says. “I’ll keep him safe, Zoe. I promise.”

He’s not sure if he’s saying it to reassure her or himself.

“Thanks, Evan.”

“Anytime. Thanks for letting me know what’s going on.”

“I’ll bring some of his stuff to school tomorrow, okay?”

“Yeah, sounds good. I’ve gotta check on him, so…”

“Okay. Um. Tell him I love him, okay? Please. I mean. It doesn’t matter, I just-”

“I get it, Zoe. Goodnight.”

She hangs up without saying anything. Evan steps back into his room, where Connor has stretched out across the length of his bed. His feet hang off the end. He has his hands over his eyes, like he’s trying to hide. Maybe he is.

“Who was it?” Connor asks. He lifts a hand, uncovering one eye.

“Zoe. She was worried.” Evan walks over to the bed and sits on the corner. Connor puts his feet in his lap.

“About what?”

“About _you,_ Connor.”

“She say _why?_ ” 

“She said you threatened to kill yourself.” Not knowing what to do with his hands, Evan kind of squeezes Connor’s ankle. “I’m- I’m worried too, Connor.”

“Don’t be.” He grabs for Evan’s sleeve, tugging him back. “Come here. I’m tired.” 

“You can’t sleep in jeans and a sweatshirt,” Evan says, not thinking. 

“What the fuck do you suggest I sleep in, then?” Connor snaps. “Hate to break it to you, Hansen, but I don’t normally let people see me half naked.”

“I- I’ll give you something. I’ll find pajamas.”

“Really? Because I’m pretty sure everything you own is going to be about three inches too short for me.”

“Would you rather be uncomfortable all night?” He asks, voice coming out sharper than he intended. “I mean, really, jeans? You’ll be awake all night.” Connor blinks at him, surprised. 

“Um. Okay. I mean. I mean, if you have something I could wear.”

“Okay. Good.” Evan stands, goes to his closet. He tries to find comfortable pajama-ish clothes, and ends up with a pair of old sweats and a tee-shirt from his trip to Colorado. It was three sizes too big because Evan’s stepmom expected him to actually be average sized, instead of the puny, sick kid he really was. He hadn’t worn it since. “Um. Here.” He hands the clothes to Connor, who looks at him blankly like _what am I supposed to do with this dorky shit_ so Evan kind of lets out a surprised sound and directs Connor to the bathroom to change. And then sits anxiously on his bed, waiting for Connor to come back. When Connor finally gets back, he’s carrying his clothes in a balled up wad and looking majorly freaked. 

“What are all the pills in your medicine cabinet for?” He asks, sitting heavily on the edge of the bed. “Sorry, I was looking for Advil or something and. And that’s an awful lot of prescriptions. Um.”

“Oh. Um. It was probably just my, uh. My Xanax? Sometimes my mom, she. She gets my prescription filled before I run out. It’s supposed to be a monthly thing, but I don’t always, like, need them? Sorry, I’m rambling. Sorry.” He bites his lip, trying desperately to keep from spitting more unnecessary information out. “Oh, I have an SSRI, too. It. It doesn’t really do anything.”

“What’s it supposed to do?” Connor asks, shoulders visibly relaxing. “It’s not painkillers or anything like that, right?”

“No! No, it’s just a type of antidepressant.”

“But it doesn’t work?” 

“Not… really. I. I, um. I’ve never really had any luck with those.” Connor’s arms tighten around his bundle of clothes. 

“So you’re still…” He gestures broadly with his right hand. 

“Mhm. A. A bit. Sometimes. It’s, it’s. It’s a long story.” 

“I’m sorry.” 

“For what?”

“That you feel like this. Like. Like I do. It’s not… it’s not fun.” He looks at Evan like he’s trying to say _something_ but can’t quite get it out. Quiet falls over the two of them; Connor crosses and uncrosses his arms over and over, and Evan realizes belatedly that he’s probably trying to make a point of leaving them bare. So Evan glances down and takes note of the new marks, the strip of gauze wrapped tightly around the middle of his forearm. Fingers ghost gingerly across the raised scars; Connor flinches, but doesn’t move away. Out of the corner of his eye, Evan can see Connor’s face flush. He bites his tongue to keep from apologizing again and again and again. He wants to ask _why_ so badly but can’t get the words out. 

“Are you really going to sleep?” Evan asks. It’s such an out of the blue thing, but he can’t think of anything else to say and he _needs_ to say something so he just says the first thing he thinks of, even though it’s so remarkably stupid, and Connor does that thing where he just blinks up at Evan for a second. So. He stands, crosses to the light switch. Connor’s eyes follow him across the room. When he gets back to bed, Connor scoots over for him to lie down.

“Probably not.”

“At least try.”

“It’s easier with someone else here,” Connor murmurs. Evan’s heart hammers as he lies down. Surely Connor can feel how hard it’s beating. “Hey, Evan?”

Connor’s hand finds his. Friends sleep like this all the time, right?

Right?

This is normal. It has to be. 

“Hm?”

Evan can smell cigarettes and sweat and whatever deodorant Connor uses, plus something indescribably unique to him. It’s nice. 

“Never mind.”

“Zoe wanted me to tell you she loves you.”

“Oh.” Connor’s knees bump Evan’s. “Huh.”

“She does,” Evan insists. “She really does.”

“She didn’t last night.”

“Of course she did.”

“She let my dad- she let _Larry_ kick me out, just like she let him send me to rehab, and that fucking yoga retreat, and all the other bullshit he put me through instead of actual therapy. Zoe doesn’t love me, Evan.”

“You were in rehab?”

“Yeah, don’t you remember when I missed half a semester last year?”

Evan feels his cheeks redden. 

“I. I’m sorry, I don’t.”

Connor sighs. 

“It’s fine. It’s not like I was at school much anyway.” In the dim light, Evan catches one shoulder move in an aborted shrug. “I wasn’t very memorable, even when I was there.”

“It’s not fine. I should have been your friend back then, too. I should have always been your friend.” 

“Stop.”

“Why? You deserve friends,” Evan says. Connor shakes his head. “Yes, you do. Hey. You deserve good things.”

“I’m going to sleep.” He turns over, back to Evan, and drops his hand. 

“Connor-”

“Listen, Evan, we were never supposed to be friends in the first place. The agreement was that we would _pretend,_ or whatever, and none of this touchy feely shit would be involved. This is- this is too much, okay?” He stands abruptly, and Evan follows suit. “Jesus christ, I can’t do this,” he says, pushing a hand through his hair. “I’ll sleep on the couch.” 

And Evan knows for a fact that Connor has no idea where the living room is or where the couch is or anything, but he walks out of the room and closes the door so quietly behind him, like he’s trying not to make waves, like he’s just trying to disappear. And maybe. Maybe he is. Maybe he _is_ trying to disappear, which is the scariest thought Evan has ever had, so he rushes out into the living room to find Connor and ends up bumping right into him in the hall. They collide, and they fall, and they end up tangled together on the floor but Evan is not about to move because he is So Worried and he just has to make sure Connor is alright, so he’s kind of touching him and trying to see if all of him is still there, like checking to see that he hasn’t lost a limb in the two minutes he was gone. He hasn’t. Which. Is a relief. And they’re fine. They have to be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> JEEEEEEESUS this took so long and it's SO bad but!! i'm publishing!! so. yeah.


	8. easy days will come

Connor has already smoked thirty cigarettes today. A pack and a half of Marlboros. And it’s not even eight in the morning. 

Heidi had knocked quietly on Evan’s door at six thirty, saying “Evan, honey, why is Connor on our front porch? Does he normally smoke that much?”

So now it’s seven twenty-four and Evan is sitting with his back against the railing, waiting for Connor to stop pacing the length of the porch and chain smoking like he has a deathwish. Maybe he does. To her credit, Heidi has only checked on them about twelve times, which Evan knows must be driving her crazy. 

“Connor, we should get going…” Evan tries, checking his phone. School starts at eight, which means they have about thirty minutes to get there if they leave like, immediately.

“I’m not going to school.” He scratches at his arm. Sometime in the night he had snuck back into Evan’s room and snatched a sweatshirt. 

“You have to go, come on,” Evan says. He stands. He needs to get his backpack and his lunch card, and Connor probably wants coffee. “My mom will drive us.”

“Whatever,” Connor sighs. He’s still wearing Evan’s clothes, the dumb sweatpants and the dumb shirt from Colorado, and probably everyone at school will know that they’re Evan’s, and they’ll make fun of Connor relentlessly, because they’ll think that he’s sleeping with Evan. Fuck. There is no way Evan can handle going to school without Connor, because he is pathetic. He tells Connor as much, but he just rolls his eyes. 

In the end, Evan runs upstairs to grab his stuff and comes back down to find Heidi and Connor already in the car, talking about some obscure band from the nineties. 

“-Now, Connor, as a mom and a nurse I really need to address the smoking-”

“Mom, come on, not now,” Evan says, throwing himself into the backseat.

“Just try to quit, alright? I know it’s hard. I _know_. But you’ll be so much better off without all that shit in your lungs,” she says. She starts the car, and Connor kind of chuckles dryly, and Evan feels his chest collapsing in on itself because Connor looks back at him and there is something happy in his eyes, something really happy, and it hurts in the best possible way. This is good, right? This is progress. 

“Yeah,” Connor says sheepishly, scratching the back of his neck. “My sister wants me to quit, too.”

“Not your parents?”

“Nah, they, uh. They gave up on that, actually.” 

“I see. Evan tells me you’re interested in writing, huh?” Evan knows where she’s going with this. She’s going to quietly assess Connor and then try to mother him from the sidelines, because she knows that things are weird at home for him and she hates seeing kids suffer. Which is ironic, but Evan’s not going to say anything. 

“Yeah, um. I actually wanted to be a poet, when I was younger. Or an artist. But my dad wanted me to be a lawyer or something, so I just do that stuff as a hobby, now.” From the back, Evan can see that Connor is picking at his nails.

“You don’t seem like the lawyer type to me.”

“Ha.” A few minutes pass in uncomfortable silence, until Connor clears his throat. “Um. I- I don’t really know how to say this, but. But. Um. Thanks for letting me stay with you, Ms. Hansen.”

“Oh, sweetie, of _course_ ,” Heidi coos, reaching across the center counsel to squeeze Connor’s arm. Evan flinches, expecting Connor to flip out and yank his arm away and maybe even hit Heidi or try to jump out of the car, but he just looks at Heidi’s hand like he’s shocked someone wanted to touch him. “Any friend of Evan’s is a friend of mine. And, seriously, cut it out with that ‘Ms. Hansen’ baloney. I’m Heidi to you, alright?”

“Yes, Ms. Um. Heidi.” 

When they finally arrive at school, Connor hops out of the car immediately, booking it for the entrance. Evan moves to follow, but Heidi says, “Hey, wait a second,” so he’s trapped in the car for what is bound to be a horrible conversation. He can already feel his blood pressure spiking. 

“What’s up, mom?”

“We need to talk about Connor, baby.”

“Yeah, I. I know.” Evan tries to make eye contact with her in the mirror, but ends up looking away before he can meet her gaze. 

“Do you know what’s going on?”

“His dad- his dad, he doesn’t really, um. Believe? That Connor is struggling, I guess?” Deep breath. “He, he, uh, he thinks that Connor just wants attention. And. Um. Apparently, they got into it the other night, and. Mr. Murphy kicked Connor out.”

“He kicked Connor out?” Heidi has gone pale in the front seat. She’s gripping the steering wheel so hard her knuckles are bright white. 

“Yeah.” Another deep breath. “I’m scared, mom. I’m worried about him.”

“I know, baby. I know.” She sighs and rubs her face. “It’s going to be difficult for him. Just try to be his friend, alright?”

“I know, mom.”

“I’m proud of you, Evan. Go be great.” She shoos him out of the car and pulls away. So Evan is left alone, yet again. Forcing himself inside, he tries to keep his head down and make as little eye contact as possible, because he doesn’t want to sweat through his shirt today. One foot in front of the other, one foot in front of the other, one foot in front of the other. 

As he makes his way to his locker, he watches another pair of shoes fall in step beside him. Maybe it’s just someone trying to give him a flyer, or something? No, he recognizes those obnoxious boat shoes. It’s fucking Jared. Rather than say something and get trapped in a conversation with him, Evan speeds up and gets to his locker in record time. Apparently, Connor decided to stop by Evan’s locker, too, so now he’s trapped between him and Jared and there’s nowhere to go but _in_ so he just leans into his locker like the idiot he is without saying a word, without so much as acknowledging anyone’s presence. And then he stands there shuffling things around while the tension just builds, until finally Jared says “nice shirt” and Connor says “fuck you” and grabs Evan by the backpack, hauling him out of his locker and away from Jared. 

“Fuck you too, you ignorant asshole!” Jared calls after them. 

“Don’t say anything,” Evan hisses to Connor, who is clenching and unclenching his fists. He hasn’t changed out of the clothes he slept in, and Evan is just realizing that the stupid Colorado shirt is small on Connor. And that sweatpants look really, really good on him. God. He needs to get himself under control before he does something stupid like, like kiss Connor or something, right here in front of everyone in the entire world. 

“I wasn’t going to say anything,” Connor says. He scratches his wrist. “God. Just go to Environmental Science or whatever, I’ll see you at lunch.”

“Yeah, cool.” Does Connor have his schedule memorized? Holy shit, Connor has his schedule memorized. 

“Good.”

“Great.”

“Awesome,” Connor sighs. He follows Evan down the hall.

“Don’t you have art?” Jesus, he has Connor’s schedule memorized, too. What the fuck. 

“Yeah…” 

“Isn’t that, like, completely the other direction?”

Connor rolls his eyes and heaves an enormous sigh. “Yeah. I don’t want to go.”

“Come on, we’ve talked about this,” Evan says, reaching for Connor’s arm on reflex. When did touching Connor become so natural? “Just. Just go to class, alright?”

“God. Okay, _mom._ ”

“See you,” Evan says, almost regretting making Connor go to class. Something chimes in his head as he watches him walk sullenly in the opposite direction. A frantic explosion of anxious energy sends him careening into the science room, where he throws down his bag and takes off to the bathroom. There, he spends a decent ten minutes hugging the cool porcelain toilet bowl, because he is certain that he’s going to puke. Just throw up everywhere, like some kind of disgusting vomit super-soaker. He can’t even call Connor and ask him, _beg_ him to come back, to please come back because he is so fucking pathetic that he can’t even go one class without seeing him, because he left his dumb knock off phone in his backpack. What if that was the last time he’d ever see Connor? Like, what if instead of going to art, he just walked out of the doors, right into the street, and just stood there until a car or a bus or something hit him? Connor could be bleeding to death on the dirty ground and no one would even know. Lately, more and more, every goodbye has felt significant. Even when Evan knows that he’ll be seeing Connor soon, he worries. A lot. Which brings him back to his current situation, huddled on the sticky floor, willing his phone to magically fall into his hand. Not that he would be able to call anyway. Because he’s a mess. 

Obviously.

He scrapes himself off of the grimy tile floor and scrubs his hands clean before shuffling back to class, where his teacher greets him unenthusiastically. Which is about how the rest of his day goes. He trudges through the next few classes until lunch, where he gets so distracted by Connor in sweatpants that he forgets to eat. 

“Hey, Connor!” Alana calls about halfway through the lunch period. She rushes over to their table, Zoe close behind, smile as wide as ever. Evan catches the way her eyes flicker over Connor, the are-you-okay, should-I-worry radar scanning for any abnormalities. Apparently satisfied, she slides into the seat across from Connor, who had been attempting to get his feet into Evan’s lap. Now that he has an obligation to interact with someone else, he turns to face her, offering something smile-ish in her direction. Zoe rolls her eyes and sits next to Alana, across from Evan, but squares her jaw and doesn’t say anything.

“Oh, hey, Alana,” Connor says. His face shifts subtly, from the vast openness reserved almost completely for Evan to a shuttered, subdued version of himself. Evan hates that he can tell. 

“Zoe told me what’s been going on,” Alana says, and does the exact thing that Connor _hates_ where she gently unfolds his hand and kind of lays hers on top of it. Evan can feel Connor start bouncing his leg. “I just want you to know that I am always, always here for you. If you need a couch to crash on, or… or anything, really. I also know a ton of really great youth pastors and stuff that would totally be willing to help you out-“ 

“Actually, Alana, um. I, uh. I have it covered,” Evan manages, just barely squeezing the words out. She blinks rapidly at him, like she can’t even believe that somebody else cares. A wide smile cracks across her face, and she draws her hand back from Connor.

“Oh, that’s just wonderful!” She says, clapping exuberantly. Beside her, Zoe makes a face somewhere between a grimace and a grin.

“So… we’re done talking about this, right?” Connor asks, clearly uncomfortable. He’s started bouncing his leg hard enough to shake Evan’s chair, which makes Evan wonder if he’s had anything to eat today or if he has just drank a ton of coffee on an empty stomach. Ordinarily, that makes him irritable and restless as a forest fire. 

“I have some of your shit with me,” Zoe pipes up. A ghost of uncertainty flickers across her face, almost like she is second-guessing her words already. 

“Cool, whatever.” 

“Yeah. Whatever, I guess.” She stands, Alana following suit. The scrape of her chair across the linoleum raises the hairs on the back of Evan’s neck. Even when he’s angry, Connor looks damn good in those sweatpants. 

“See, Evan? She doesn’t love me.”

Connor pushes himself up from the table, kicking his chair back. Without a word, he stomps out of the cafeteria, leaving Evan alone with the entire world. So Evan takes their lunch trays (Connor hadn’t touched his food) and dumps them in the trash. Knowing full well that Connor is in one of his leave-me-alone, don’t-even-think-about-talking-to-me moods, Evan buys a couple granola bars with the change jingling around in his pocket and heads out of the cafeteria to find him. The thin October air is jarring to step into, but Evan is almost certain Connor came outside for a smoke, so that’s where he goes. Worry becomes him, as always, wrapping him up tightly and telling him that everything will most certainly _not_ be okay, that Connor is probably running away or something. Despite this, Evan finds Connor right where he expected; he’s halfway behind the gym, an empty pack of cigarettes in hand. His legs are folded up underneath him, sharp angles and edges prominent in his whole body. He’s an origami boy, paper flat. It scares Evan. What scares him more, however, is the fact that Connor isn’t even smoking. He’s just. Just sitting, holding the empty package. Like he can’t even bring himself to light one. Like he took all of the marlboros out of their little bed and held them to his lips without inhaling. Evan can’t smell smoke. 

“So are you planning on standing there all day, or what?” Connor gripes, not looking at Evan.

“We have to go to study hall,” Evan starts, hoping (irrationally) that this will drag Connor to his feet.

“Fuck study hall.” Connor scratches his arm. “God. I fucking hate my life.” Evan bristles at this. It’s not fair. Connor gets to hate everything, gets to rage and scream and want to die. He has everything he could ever want or need- a whole family, a nice house, more money than Evan can imagine, yet here he is, complaining like he has it so rough. And Evan. Evan has next to nothing. And he hates himself for even thinking it, for thinking for the briefest second that having what appears to be a decent life from the outside actually has anything to do with Connor’s mental health. Or. Or lack thereof. Connor stands on wobbly paper legs, but Evan is certain that he doesn’t look as flat. 

“Here,” Evan says, passing him a granola bar. “Eat this. You gotta stop drinking coffee on an empty stomach. Like. Like seriously, Connor.” They walk side by side, almost (but not really) too close. Almost.

“Jesus Christ, I thought getting kicked out would mean less mothering,” Connor whines, but takes the granola bar anyway. A bitter kind of crooked grin splits his face. 

“Stop,” Evan snaps, unintentionally. Surprisingly, he doesn’t try to take it back. Connor, for his part, stops chewing. He looks at Evan, _blinks_ at him with his dumb fucking beautiful blue eyes, and it takes every ounce of self control Evan has to keep himself from just reaching up and planting a kiss right on the crease between his eyebrows. God. “Stop making jokes to cover up the fact that you’re hurting. You can actually _talk_ about stuff with me, okay?”

Connor rolls his eyes. “Okay, jeez, I get it.” 

“Do you?” A hand on Connor’s arm, a knee knocking against his.

“Um, yeah.” Connor’s shoulders bunch up around his ears. “I’ll stop making dumb fucking jokes. God.”

“You know that wasn’t my point.” The entrance looms closer, forcing dread down Evan’s throat. 

“Whatever. I have to go to my locker, I’ll see you in study hall.” He leaves Evan standing at the doors. 

~~~~

The rest of the day goes remarkably well, considering everything. Connor is surly, which is to be expected. During study hall, he kicked the back of Evan’s chair until Evan worked up the courage to ask him to please stop. Then, in English, they had to write about the best and worst days of their lives for some bullshit personal narrative project. Evan has had so many worst days, he didn’t know which to pick. And Connor. Connor just laughed out loud. As soon as their teacher introduced the project, Connor let out this god awful sound, like he was deflating, like he’d been caught in the middle of a really funny joke when somebody punched him in the gut, like the idea was so absurd to him that he couldn’t decide if it was hilarious or painful. 

“You’re joking, right?” Connor asked, without even raising his hand. Their teacher, Mr. So-and-so, (Evan never really bothered memorizing his name) looked caught between offense and concern. He said something along the lines of “it’s important to get to know yourself through your writing,” and Connor just laughed again. 

So. Now it’s three something, and Evan has planted himself beside Connor’s locker while he waits for Connor to come back from English. The teacher asked him to stay behind after class. 

“God damn fucking bastard fuck fuck fuck-“ Connor curses, less origami boy than before. Now, he’s paper aflame. He slams his locker open, not even bothering to acknowledge Evan, whose heart is fluttering so rapidly from being startled that he can feel it in his toes. “Fucking asshole. Fuck. He wanted to have a heart to heart like some kind of counselor or something, _Jesus Christ, where is my fucking phone_ and he kept giving me that ‘I’m here for you, Connor, you can tell me what’s wrong, Connor, my door’s always open, Connor’ bullshit-“ he pauses to kick the bottom locker, shoulders heaving. He kicks it again, harder, and it strikes Evan that this is just as much of a self-destruct button as cutting. So he. He kind of. He kind of puts his hand on Connor’s shoulder, says “hey, Connor,” sticks his foot between Connor’s and the locker, and tries so hard to keep his heart from ticking up another twenty beats per minute. Because Connor is looking at him likes he’s the fucking sun.

“Hey, Connor,” Evan says again, softer. Connor’s shoulders fall from around his ears, and slowly, slowly he goes back to himself. “Let’s go, okay? We’ll work on this stupid paper together when we get home. Just. Just stop kicking the locker? Please? You’re going to break your foot.” 

“Maybe I want to break my foot,” Connor sneers, sounding more like a child than anything. He gives one last half-hearted nudge to the locker before squeezing the hand that Evan has on his shoulder. “Nevermind,” he sighs. “I guess I don’t really want to break my foot.”

“Good,” Evan says. The position he’s in has him leveraged tightly between Connor and the locker bank, so he shuffles aside and tries desperately not to feel disappointed when Connor drops his hand. Jesus fucking christ, this has got to stop.

“Wow, I’ve never seen anyone talk him down that quickly.”

“Fuck off, Zoe,” Connor snaps. The moment of calm is over, and Evan can feel Connor’s tension through his whole body. 

“I have your stuff,” she replies, completely ignoring him. He slams his locker and turns to face her, jaw clenched tightly around words Evan knows he’s trying not to say. Zoe has a duffel bag thrown over her shoulder. “Mom wanted to bring it by Evan’s, but she has to bake a cake or something for dad’s work party.” 

“Thanks for telling me that, Zo. It’s good to know mom cares more about some bullshit party than her own kid.” He grabs the bag from her and walks away without even making eye contact with her, which leaves Evan alone and reeling. 

“Your mom didn’t even pack his bag, did she?” Anger swells behind Evan’s lungs. Biting her lip, Zoe shakes her head.

“Don’t tell him,” she says. “Seriously. It’ll just make things harder when he comes home.”

“I won’t.” He’s trying to be reassuring, but it probably just comes across as pissed off. Which, to be fair, he is. “Thanks, Zoe. It was really, um. It. Packing a bag for him was nice of you.”

“Yeah, well. He’s my brother, so.” She scuffs her boot against the tile, clearly uncomfortable. 

“I should probably-” He gives a half-hearted gesture after Connor, who is retreating sullenly down the hall.

“Yeah, go ahead, sorry-”

“No, it’s fine, I’m sorry, god. I just have to- I should-”

“Of course. Uh. See you later, I guess?” Evan nods enthusiastically, surely making a fool of himself. “Can you call me tonight? Just to update me on him?”

“Yeah, yes, definitely. I’ll talk to you tonight. Yeah.” With this, Zoe turns and heads back to her locker. It dawns on Evan that she is just as desperate to see Connor get better as he is. 

~~~~

The walk home is chilly, and Connor keeps patting his pockets as if he’s looking for something, and Evan just wants to get home before it starts raining because it looks like it’s going to rain which stresses him out because what if it rains on them and Evan gets soaked and Connor gets soaked and they both look like absolute idiots because they’re dripping wet by the time they get home? They don’t even talk; Connor is bristly and skulking, and Evan is too worried about making him mad to say anything. He wishes he could melt into the sidewalk. He wishes he had never been born. Sometimes, he feels like he’s outside of his body, just seeing it go through the motions of living without really being alive. It’s like watching a movie or something, like he can’t control what’s happening on the screen but has to observe it nonetheless. He’s floating above himself and he can’t remember what actually existing feels like. So. So he just. Walks with Connor, and tries not to think about how Connor almost _died,_ how Connor almost died and instead of getting help he’s being punished. Somehow, they make it home. 

Somehow, Evan doesn’t pass out.

Somehow, Connor Murphy is still alive. 

The house smells like real food, like baked potatoes and chicken and rice, and the television is on in the living room, and Heidi is actually home for once. Like, physically _and_ mentally here. She greets them from the kitchen like a real mom. She offers snacks and _milk,_ which is so inexplicably sad to Evan that he has to go hyperventilate in the bathroom. Heidi Hansen is being more of a mother to Connor than Connor’s own mother. The thought makes Evan want to scream at the top of his lungs, makes him want to die a little bit. When he comes out of the bathroom, Heidi and Connor are sitting at the kitchen table together, and there’s three cups of tea, and Evan realizes belatedly that the third cup is for him, because he’s a fucking idiot. God. The hummingbird in his chest thrums to life. He can’t get the image of Connor sitting behind school surrounded by crumbled cigarettes out of his head. It was like someone had just sucked all of the energy right out of him, like he wanted to smoke but couldn’t even bring the filter to his lips. Suddenly, he is snapped back into his own body and he is Too Aware that he does, in fact, exist, and the hummingbird beats furiously against his ribs. 

“So, this morning you said something about your parents-”

“Mom, please don’t interrogate him.” He tries to ignore the thrum of his heart and slides into his seat at the table with what he hopes is casual grace, but which is probably more awkward and uncomfortable.

“No, it’s. It’s uh, it’s really okay,” Connor ducks his head, avoiding eye contact. “They just. I’ve never really been a great kid, and. Uh. They got tired of trying to fix me or whatever. I guess.” He picks at his nail polish. The thing is, it’s weird for Connor to be sharing anything with anyone, especially an adult. Especially after the day he’s had. Especially about his family. It’s not like him at all. 

“Oh. Well. You’re welcome here anytime, baby,” Heidi coos, and Connor’s ears flush bright pink. What the fuck? What the fuck, what the _fuck,_ this is absolutely not normal, something is going on. Connor Murphy doesn’t open up like that. Connor Murphy closes in on himself and shuts down and doesn’t answer questions, _refuses_ to answer questions. 

Or Evan is just projecting. 

After a period of intensely awkward silence, Evan asks, “Um, mom, what’s- what’s for, for dinner?” And Heidi smiles her thin, tired smile.

“Chicken with rice pilaf. I found a recipe on Pinterest during my coffee break and decided to try it.” She takes a long drink of her tea. “I’m taking off from school tonight, too. I thought we could all hang out, you know, _chill_.”

“It smells wonderful, Ms. Hansen.” Connor is doing that thing again, where he’s unbearably polite because he doesn’t want to make waves. It makes Evan’s stomach hurt. “What are you- what are you, um, studying, if you don’t mind my asking?”

This is a completely normal, regular human conversation. What the fuck.

“I’m going to be a paralegal,” Heidi says, proudly. She’s more proud of her choice to go back to school than anything else, even Evan.

“Oh! My dad is a lawyer. He could, like, give you tips or something.” Connor’s ankle bumps Evan’s under the table. The contact is just enough to remind him that he is definitely, unfortunately alive and real.

“No offense, Connor, but your dad sounds like a real jerk,” Heidi says. Connor grins. What the fuck.

“Yeah, he’s not my favorite person in the world.” He glances at Evan as if to say, _see, see, I can be normal, I can do things like this, you don’t have to worry about me,_ or maybe Evan is just really bad at interpreting glances and it actually means _I’m going to kill you and then myself_. Which. Obviously that would be terrible.

They keep having this normal conversation. Like. Like friends. And Connor Murphy doesn’t make friends. Connor Murphy is supposed to be barbed wire and electric fences. Evan interjects occasionally, but this whole thing taking place between his sunshine mother and storm cloud friend seems to leave no room for him, a raindrop of a boy. Barely a cirrus cloud. Just a fucking wispy mistake, a blip on God’s radar. 

“Why don’t you two take your stuff up to Evan’s room and I’ll start plating up dinner?” Heidi offers, snapping Evan from his blender head. 

“What? Oh, yeah. Uh. Connor, wanna-” He stands on wobbly legs, gestures vaguely toward his room. Connor follows suit, and soon, they’re up the stairs, idling outside of Evan’s room. This horrible feeling of deja vu hits Evan. Just last night, Connor had cried walking up those stairs and cried on Evan’s bed and cried in Evan’s arms. It doesn’t seem like it should be real, but it was. Jerkily, Evan opens his door and walks in, dropping his backpack on his bed. 

“Dude, your mom is like-”

“A helicopter parent? I know.” Evan kicks off his shoes and tries not to worry about whether or not his feet stink.

“I was going to say cool.” Connor lets his bag fall to the floor and sits on Evan’s bed without invitation. 

Evan shrugs. “She’s never home. And. And, like, when she is, she’s studying or worrying. It’s weird to see her actually talking to someone.” He wants to ask, _are you okay?_ He wants to say, _I know the warning signs._ But Connor, objectively, seems fine. He isn’t making any last minute plans or doing anything reckless. He isn’t confessing love or crimes or secrets. He isn’t giving his things away. He’s just… not being Connor. 

“I’m sorry,” Connor blurts, and again Evan is being dragged back into his own body, cruely reminded that he exists, that he is a real living person. “I didn’t mean to barge in on your life like this. Sorry, jesus. This. This really wasn’t supposed to happen, I know we agreed to just, like, _pretend_ or whatever-”

“I- I think we’re, like, past pretending? Or whatever? We’re friends, Connor. Okay? We’re. We’re friends.” This is weird, right? This whole situation is weird. 

“I’m still. I’m. I’m sorry.” And Evan wants to ask why, but he doesn’t have the nerve. So they pretend like this conversation didn’t happen and drag themselves back downstairs for dinner, where Heidi and Connor have a normal conversation again. Evan is watching a movie and he can’t control what’s happening on the screen, no matter how much he wants to jump up and shout that something terrible is going to happen, no matter how much he wants to change the ending. 

~~~~

“Evan?”

“Hm?”

It’s well past midnight, but Evan hasn’t been able to sleep. He keeps replaying the night in his head. Pressing pause, rewinding. Zooming through the normal parts, and slowing down the pieces that seem like they’re from another lifetime, another reality altogether. His hands have been clammy for hours. 

“Can I- can I come in?” Connor asks, voice tentative through the door. Evan flips his lamp on.

“Yeah,” he sighs. Connor slips in quietly and shuts the door behind him. The dim light from the lamp lights Connor’s fuzzy hair up like a halo around his head, and for a fraction of a second, Evan’s heart cries _angel_ and it hurts so badly. “Are you… Are you okay?”

“Yeah, yes,” Connor says, eyes glassy. He shifts his weight uncomfortably, leaning against the door and then away from it. Uncertainty coils in every joint of his gangly body. “I just. I just couldn’t sleep. Um.”

“Do you want to, to, to uh. Like. Share with me?” He tries to gesture to his bed, but his body decides against it and he kind of just thrusts one elbow. Heidi had made the couch up for Connor after dinner, but Evan didn’t really expect him to stay out there. Something like relief flickers across Connor’s face, and he shuffles over to Evan’s bed.

“Just anywhere, or-”

“Oh, here, sorry-”

“Don’t apologize, what the fuck-”

Despite their best efforts, they’re still unconventionally close, and it makes Evan want to die. But what doesn’t these days? “I’m turning off the light.”

They are plunged into darkness, and Connor’s leg is warm where it is pressed against Evan’s, and this does not feel as weird as it should. 

“Evan?”

“Hm?”

“Do you ever think about your own funeral? Like. Like, wonder how it would go?” Beside him, Connor is breathing, and that’s all that matters. 

“Sometimes, I guess. Why, uh. Why. Why do you ask?” Is this what Connor thinks about when he can’t sleep?

“I don’t know, I just. I. I wanted to make sure I’m not crazy or whatever for, like. For thinking about it.”

“You’re setting your not crazy bar pretty low,” Evan remarks. “I mean. I mean, jeez. I’m about as crazy as they come.”

“No,” Connor says softly. “You’re not.” There is quiet between them as Evan tries to figure out what the hell is going on with Connor, and Connor breathes shallowly. Their legs are still pressed together. Neither of them moves. 

“I want them to play Fleetwood Mac at my funeral,” Connor says, so quietly that Evan nearly misses it. He rolls over, and Evan’s leg is cold again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> jeeeeeeesus Christ, sorry for the wait. I’m not dead. I promise, I’m not dead. A lot of really terrible shit has happened recently, and a lot has come up that I haven’t had any control over, so I want to apologize for the hiatus.


	9. it's easy to be terrified

“God,” Connor says, slamming his pencil against the table. “This assignment is fucking bullshit.”

“Um. It’s- it’s not that I don’t agree, I just. I just, just think we should work through it together so we. So we can, like, make sure we aren’t messing it up.”

“I don’t care if I mess it up. The entire class makes me want to die.” Connor kicks stubbornly at the leg of the table, dislodging the pencil. The librarian is definitely going to come over and beat them up for being too loud. Something catches in Evan’s head- he can almost feel a snap. The little anxious bell starts chiming, and he’s not even sure why. Connor looks at him like he’s an idiot, which he is, so he probably deserves it. The world is shrinking around them, tightening its boundaries, slowing almost to a halt. Time drags on, second by second, until the period is over and they have to go back to the English room. Working in the library with Connor was a compromise- their teacher had initially wanted Connor to work on this project alone, but Connor had thrown a fit and Evan had to talk him down. The problem here was that their teacher didn’t let Connor out of the project; he just let him out of the classroom. 

“Clearly, this environment isn’t conducive to Mr. Murphy’s growth. You two go down to the library and come back at the end of class,” he said. He had that stupid, self-satisfied grin that particularly egotistical people wear when they want you to know just how smart they are. Evan hated him for thinking that he was so clever. He hated him for making Connor do the project in the first place, and he especially hated him for acting like it would do Connor good. So that’s how they ended up in the library, kicking tables and complaining about the project. 

Connor has been staying with the Hansens for about three weeks. Halloween has come and gone without incident, which Evan is grateful for. Heidi stayed home and watched old tacky horror movies with them. Zoe calls Evan every night to check on Connor and update him on whether or not he’s allowed to come home yet. She insists that she wants to talk to Connor, but every night without fail, when Evan offers the phone to him, he rolls over and pretends to be asleep. He’s been helping Heidi study, which is so super out of character that it makes Evan wonder if he’s really getting better, or if he’s just scared to get kicked out of the Hansen household, too. Desperation pricks at Evan’s skin- he wants to tell him, _you can stay here_ wants to cry _my mom loves you so much_ wants to shout _please please please please don’t leave._ In his heart of hearts, Evan knows that Connor has to go home sometime. It just makes sense. Every time he thinks about Connor having to go home, his brain, like. Like. Short circuits, and comes to a screeching halt. It’s like when people go through a really traumatic event and their brains won’t let them think about it, because just remembering leaves them vulnerable and in pain, except. This, this is for the future, for a trauma that hasn’t occurred yet. He doesn’t even know what is stressing him out about this. There’s this sick, creeping feeling, like something absolutely terrible is going to happen. He just doesn’t know what or when. 

The world is shrinking around them, tightening its boundaries, slowing almost to a halt. The tension that has been growing steadily in Evan’s chest feels ready to burst by the time school lets out, which isn’t abnormal but still isn’t good. He’s managed to pick away his cuticles, leaving a bloody mess of torn skin and sore fingers. 

“God. I feel like we’re doing the same thing over and over,” Connor groans as they make their way to study hall. “I’m tired of this. It’s like we’re in groundhog day or something. Jesus.” Evan takes notice of the tremor in his voice, the way he’s getting more and more quiet. He can’t shake the feeling of impending doom. “Um. Zoe, she told me that I can come home tonight. If I want.”

“Oh!” Evan says, but it comes out as more of a squeak. “Oh, that’s great!” _ohthatsgreat!_ “Not that I want you to leave or anything, I don’t, but it’s good that you’re allowed to go back home, you know, I’m happy for you!” He can’t stop himself from babbling, even as he’s running out of breath. The words just keep coming. He’s lost control of his own fucking mouth, and how utterly pathetic is that? It’s attached to his body and he can’t stop it. 

“So…” Connor swallows audibly. Again, Evan gets the feeling that something inexplicably awful is going to happen. “Um. I was wondering if you. If you want to get coffee on the way back to your place? I know it’s stupid and not enough, but I want to thank you for letting me stay with you. And for being such a good… such a good friend.”

“You don’t have to thank me, Connor,” Evan starts, but Connor interrupts before he can get _you’re basically my only friend_ out. 

“It’s important to me. Please.” Finally, the tremor in his voice is gone. A little bit of the dread leaks out of Evan’s lungs. 

“Yeah. Okay, let’s get coffee,” Evan says, and it’s such a remarkably normal thing for him to say that he nearly laughs out loud. Stepping from school into the cold air is like stepping between realities. Inside, it is sticky-warm and too full of people. Out here, under the heavy gray sky, Evan’s heart has room to swell with possibility. Maybe nothing bad is going to happen at all. Maybe he’s just been freaking himself out. For once, his brain doesn’t force away positive thoughts; he lets himself fill up with the idea that maybe, just maybe, everything will be okay. 

~~~~

When they arrive at the coffee shop, Connor tasks Evan with grabbing a table while he orders the drinks. Evan takes a wobbly little table by a window, which is chilly but nearly perfect. Outside, people walk their dogs and crunch the fallen leaves beneath their winter boots. The last time Evan was here, Connor was scary and foreign, more sharp edges than soft corners. They’d talked about Evan’s favorite color. Connor had picked at his nail polish and explained that they didn’t have to be friends. That they could pretend. Now, months later, they’re back where they started and everything has changed. 

“Hey,” Connor says as he approaches the table. Because. Because he knows that just sitting down would startle Evan. “I got you a London fog, I hope that’s alright.”

“That’s perfect,” Evan replies. This is so weird, to be having a conversation where neither of them is stuttering. It’s just a normal conversation between two normal people. Carefully, so as not to tip the table, Connor slides into his chair. He stretches his legs until they’re bumping Evan’s. “Thank you, Connor. You really didn’t have to get this for me.”

“It’s no big deal,” Connor says. His ears are pink. “I don’t want to be sappy or whatever, but it’s going to suck at home. Without you, I mean.”

“Oh,” Evan squeaks. Again. “I’m just a, a call or text away. Anytime you need to talk. Or. Or whatever.” 

“I feel like I’m saying goodbye,” Connor complains, fiddling with the strings on his hoodie. “Like, I know I’m not, but. But it’s so fucking weird, thinking about going back there. It feels like a different world.”

“I know,” Evan croaks. He wants to say, _so don’t leave,_ but the words get stuck in his throat. “This isn’t goodbye though. I mean. It’s not, is it?”

“Of course not,” Connor says. There’s something weary in his face, in his voice. Reluctance radiates from him, and Evan doesn’t know exactly why. This should be a good time, getting coffee with his best friend. Except that the terrible sinking feeling is nudging back between his ribs. They’re quiet for a beat, Evan trying to push the feeling out and Connor picking at his nails. “You know what? Meet me in the parking lot after school on Friday. I have something I want to show you.”

“Really?” Evan feels stupid for the hope that creeps into his voice. 

“Yeah. You’re going to love it. I promise.”

For the rest of their time in the coffee shop, they talk about stupid, meaningless stuff. Neither of them can bear the thought of anything real. 

On the way back to Evan’s, Connor squeezes Evan’s hand, and Evan squeezes back. 

~~~~

“I’ll see you at school,” Connor says, standing on his own porch. Evan had walked him back after helping him pack up his stuff. “And I’ll... I’ll text you.”

“Yeah,” Evan replies, trying to sound positive. “Let me know if you. If you need anything, okay? Anything.” 

“Jesus Christ, okay mom,” Connor laughs, but there’s that same weariness in his voice. “Go. You have stuff to do.” Reluctantly, Evan shuffles to the sidewalk. 

“Shit, do you want your sweatshirt back?” Evan asks, remembering suddenly that he still has it. 

“No, keep it. I have, like, fifteen. It’s fine, Evan, don’t look at me like that. I swear to god.” He sighs. “I’ve been stalling enough. I’m going inside. I’ll see you.” And again, softer, like he’s trying to convince himself. “I’ll see you.”

“Yeah.” Evan says, despite the clench in his stomach. “Okay.”

“Alright.”

“Fine.” 

Evan walks home alone. No one squeezes his hand. No one climbs in his bed at three a.m. to ask about funerals. No one wakes up early to help his mom study. 

Heidi isn’t home yet, so he trudges up to his room. The stairs creak under his weight, sliding him back to the night Connor showed up. The way he oscillated between devastated and furious. And, worst of all, the desperate, gasping apologies. Endless apologies. Without anything better to do, Evan scrolls through twitter mindlessly. He can feel the steady pressure of an anxiety attack growing in his chest, but he can’t force himself to put his head between his knees. He waits for Connor to text him, to tell him that everything is going to be okay. He waits for the swell of panic, then numbness, that comes before hyperventilation or dissociation. Twitter is proving to be an ineffective means of calming himself down; the news is all terrible, people are getting in arguments, and it’s too much to handle. His pulse pounds in his throat and behind his eyes. Without meaning to, he falls into a restless sleep, plagued by dreams of funerals for origami boys and crumbled cigarettes. When he wakes, he’s sweating despite the chill in the air and he still feels like he’s dying. In fact, the dread has grown considerably since he fell asleep. He checks his phone. There are no new messages. The saddest fucking thing is that Evan almost expected to have _something,_ a missed call or an email or a Facebook notification. Just something to remind him that he exists. Even a message from AT &T reminding him that he had used 75% of his data would have been better than this. Instead, he’s stuck with nothing but a sick feeling in his middle and a dull, throbbing headache. He wanders to the bathroom, rubbing sleep out of his eyes and trying not to trip over his own feet like a complete moron. 

~~~~

Evan would feel so much better if Connor would just text him. Obviously they see each other in school, and Connor still sits with him at lunch and English, but all communication stops at the three o’clock bell. He’s been distant during the day, too, but it’s at night when Evan is desperately lonely and he _needs_ Connor that the distance hurts the most. He wants to demand that Connor tell him what’s going on, because that would be the normal thing to do. Instead, he draws in on himself and tries to ignore the subtle ache of missing him. 

The thought of losing Connor plagues him day and night, spinning wild in his head, a Tasmanian devil intent on destroying him from the inside out. So far, he’s worried the hem of one of his polos so much that it seems to have a permanent warp in the pattern. The New Balance shoes that Heidi had splurged on for him in August? They have a hole now, right at the ball of Evan’s left foot. He’s picked at it enough that the mesh has worn away. To top it all off, Jared has been pestering him all week, going so far as leaving notes in his locker between periods. Evan just wants to be able to complain about all of this stupid shit to Connor, but apparently Connor is too busy to pick up his phone and send a quick “I’m not dying” text. Whatever. No big deal. It’s not like Evan is drowning in his own worries. 

Of course, it’s in times like these when Evan is painfully aware of his suicidal streak. He’s caught himself fantasizing about jumping from the roof of the school building too many times to count. Every time it happens, his heart pounds so hard that he can feel it in his fingertips and he starts seeing spots. He goes back and forth about whether or not he really wants to kill himself; sometimes the answer is absolutely, sometimes just maybe. And it’s not that he gets like this just because Connor’s not around; he’s always like this, but usually he can bounce it off of Connor. Ordinarily, he would call Connor when he was feeling like this and they would talk through it or make stupid jokes about it until the urge began to fade and the cloud of desperation lifted. He could say, “holy shit, I want to die,” and Connor would laugh and say, “same,” and that would be that. There was a certain feeling of solidarity that didn’t really take away the bad, but made it more bearable. Now, he weathers the storm quietly and painfully alone. 

~~~~

By the time Friday rolls around, Evan is sick and tired of Jared leaving notes in his locker and Alana asking him questions she already knows the answer to and Connor fucking ignoring him. The worst part is that they made _plans_ for today, they had a plan for after school and Evan is certain that Connor’s going to flake. All through the day he feels himself get more and more twisted up about it. In English, he held his pen so tightly that he had cramps within two minutes of his in class essay but he was so worried about running out of time that he didn’t give his hand a break until he was done writing. Then he couldn’t get his hand unclenched, so he had to walk around looking like a fucking lobster boy, like some knock-off circus freak. 

Now, he’s trying to appease Jared while subtly searching for Connor. He was actually in school today, which surprised Evan to no end. He had almost expected Connor to skip today all together, just so he wouldn’t have to explain to Evan why he flaked on their plans come Monday. 

“Are you listening, Evan? Jesus, man, it’s like the beginning of school all over again,” Jared gripes, drumming his fingers along Evan’s locker door. 

“Yeah, sorry, I’m- I’m just a little... I’m a bit preoccupied, sorry-“ Out of the corner of his eye, he catches Connor walking toward the doors, taking long, purposeful steps. 

“What’s going on with him, dude?” Jared asks, clearly following Evan’s gaze. “Obviously he’s a psychopath, but he’s been more quiet about it this week.”

“Shit, Jared, we’ve been _over_ this,” Evan groans. “And it’s- it’s none of your business anyway.”

“Whoa, okay, don’t get your panties in a bunch,” Jared says. He holds his hands out as if to say _I’m not just a nosy shit head,_ but Evan knows he is. “I’ll see you later. Don’t forget to tell your mom we’re on speaking terms again, okay?” He must nod or something because Jared is patting him on the back and saying, “Cool cool cool, bye,” and leaving him to stand alone at his locker. Reluctantly, Evan gets his books together and heads out of school, bracing himself for disappointment. 

Only, Connor is still here, leaning against his car and looking a little hopeless. He’s fidgeting with his sleeves, an anxious tick, but he stops when he catches Evan’s eye. And. And he smiles a tiny, strained grin. But it’s enough. The little flame of anger that had been growing steadily in Evan throughout the week has been smothered by a wave of relief. 

“Hey,” Connor says. There’s something off in his voice. Definitely, there is definitely something wrong. What if he didn’t want Evan to come over here at all? What if Evan had completely misinterpreted the little smile? Maybe Connor finally decided that he actually, 100% hates Evan. But he smiles again, and it knocks the wind out of Evan, and maybe he’s just being paranoid. “Um. I hope we’re still on for today.”

“Of- of course we are!” Evan says. He rubs his hands on his pants to dry them off. “Where, um, where exactly- sorry, if you don’t mind my asking, um. Where are we going?”

“It’s a surprise,” Connor says. He shuffles his feet and looks away. “Come on,” He starts, but Evan can tell the words catch in his throat. “Let’s get out of here.”

~~~~

They’re half an hour into the drive and Connor hasn’t said a word. Evan, for the most part, has been trying to sort out all of the feelings he’d been having this week. Worry was masquerading as anger, he decided. He wasn’t really _mad_ at Connor- he was scared. The loneliness? That was real. The self-destruct button that had been blinking rapidly in his head? Also very real. 

Without meaning to, Evan finds himself picking apart all of the interactions he had with Connor this week. He had gone home Monday night. Tuesday, Evan saw him before school, but they were avoiding each other’s eyes and the air was thick with tension. Then, in study hall, Connor emailed him some stupid memes, which made Evan feel like _maybe_ things were normal. They sat together in English and at Lunch, but after school it was like they didn’t even know each other. Wednesday went pretty much the same, but Connor bailed halfway through the day. Connor came back to school on Thursday, evading Evan’s questions about where he had gone the day before. They didn’t talk in English. They didn’t email in study hall. During lunch, Connor picked sullenly at his granola bar and drank his coffee without looking up. Friday, Connor didn’t even bother coming to lunch. He sat away from Evan in English, leaving him alone with Jared, who kept trying to read Evan’s essay to cheat. He got a pass to go to the library for study hall. But then. Then, at the end of the day, not even an hour ago, he had waited for Evan after school. It was as if nothing weird had happened this week at all. Like they were just picking up where they left off. 

And honestly, Evan’s okay with that. 

Connor lights a cigarette. 

“I thought you were trying to quit,” Evan says without thinking. Is he even allowed to talk to Connor like that anymore? Are they still that close, or is Connor going to get offended and freak out? He’s definitely going to freak out. For sure. 

“Yeah, well,” Connor shrugs, rolling down the window. “Live fast die young or whatever. Carpe diem.” 

“You’re going to get lung cancer,” Evan reminds him. 

“No I won’t,” Connor laughs. He must catch Evan rolling his eyes because he laughs again. “What? I’m not going to get lung cancer. Chill out.”

“You still shouldn’t be smoking.”

“Too bad.” He takes a long drag. “C’mon, Evan, loosen up. I don’t have a whole lot of time left on earth, why waste it being scared of lung cancer?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Evan asks. His stomach has dropped down to his feet. Surely Connor didn’t mean it like that. He couldn’t have meant it like that. Connor is safe, sitting in the car next to Evan. He would have told Evan if something was wrong. 

“Nothing, Evan. Relax. Jesus.” He finishes his smoke and flicks away the ashes. “We’re almost there. Quit fucking worrying, alright? This is supposed to be a good time for you.” 

“You’re not off the hook yet,” Evan gripes. He lets the subject drop despite himself, and they make idle conversation for the rest of the drive. Soon enough, Connor is making a left into an overgrown gravel parking lot. He worries briefly about the gravel flying up and busting one of the windows, possibly sending glass all over the car and slicing them both to ribbons. And no one knows where they are, so nobody would be able to find them, and they’d bleed to death in Connor’s car. Vultures would peck their eyes out or something. Jesus. 

They are the only people in the whole parking lot. Connor pulls right up to the dilapidated fence and shuts the car off. 

“We’re here,” He offers, but neither of them move to get out. Evan listens to the radiator pop and hiss as it cools down. Connor rolls up his sleeves. Leaning over the center counsel, he reaches behind his seat to grab his backpack. This is the closest Evan’s been to him since sometime last week. His heart swells unexpectedly, leaving a fluttery, needy feeling in the pit of his stomach. This has to be normal. Right? This isn’t anything out of the ordinary. People get big swooshing feelings in their hearts all the time. It doesn’t mean anything. Eventually, Connor swings his door open and waits for Evan to do the same before climbing out of the car, hefting his bag across his chest. 

“Um. Not to, uh, not to be _rude,_ but where are we?” Evan asks. Clearly, it used to be something, but he can’t tell what. Maybe he’s just stupid. _Probably_ he’s just stupid. 

“Just follow me, okay?” Connor says, taking the lead. He’s definitely been here before; he knows where he’s going, walking confidently as if he has done this a million times. And maybe he has. He guides Evan through an old ticket booth, looking back with a smile somewhere between a grin and a grimace. The turnstile is stuck, rust locking it into place, so Connor shows Evan how to jump over it. Conversation has begun to flow easily again. They talk about Zoe, about how she had a knock down, drag out fight with Cynthia over the state of her jeans, because she’d been scribbling stars all over the cuffs in permanent marker, and Cynthia couldn’t wash it out. Apparently, tensions have never been higher in the Murphy household. Evan’s still trying to piece together what happened to make Connor go AWOL from the little snippets of information he’s dropping.

From what he can tell, the only thing keeping him from talking to Evan after school was a strict no-cell-phones-after-dinner policy that Cynthia had put into place after reading on one of her mom blogs that studies indicated a “clear connection between teen-suicide and cell phone use,” so Cynthia bought a stupidly expensive basket at Pottery Barn and made Connor and Zoe put their phones in it as soon as they were done eating. And Connor thinks it’s “so unbelievably stupid” but he hasn’t tried to take it back yet for fear of being kicked out again. Evan kind of agrees that it’s a dumb rule. It doesn’t explain the gap between them at school, though, so Evan is fairly unsatisfied with what he’s hearing. Connor is clearly familiar with where they are, but Evan still can’t put two and two together. As they walk, the path gradually widens to a field overrun with wildflowers. Again, Evan gets the distinct feeling that this used to _be_ something, that people used to spend time here doing things they enjoyed. Maybe he’s just overthinking it, but he really gets the sense that this place was important. Connor is grinning like he’s so proud, so fucking proud, and Evan is just in awe of how happy he seems. It takes a minute, but Evan realizes he’s been staring, and they’re stalled out in the middle of this field.

“What?” Connor asks, smile slipping. “Do I have something on my face?”

“No, sorry, no,” Evan stumbles over his words, embarrassment stunting his speech. “No, sorry, I just- You just- You look so _happy,_ Connor, and I haven’t seen you like this in weeks.” 

“Oh,” Connor says. His smile slides completely away, and he looks terribly uncomfortable. “Jesus. Thanks?”

“Sorry, sorry,” Evan repeats, desperate to keep the smile on his face. “I didn’t mean to make you feel weird or anything, you were just- you were just-”

“Forget it, okay? It’s no big deal.” He rolls his eyes and shrugs. “Anyway, look.” He points to a swath of trees bathed in soft yellow light. It’s a surprisingly sunny day for November. Against his better judgement, Evan had worn Connor’s sweatshirt all week. Maybe because he liked it, or maybe (a tiny, secret part of himself whispered) it was because he wanted Connor to notice and come back. He’s got it on now, which is lucky because despite the sunshine there is a chill in the air. 

“Apple trees?” Evan asks, which is stupid, because obviously they’re apple trees. They’re distinctive enough that he can tell from dozens of yards away. It seems that at one time they had been in rows, but years of abandonment have allowed seeds to spread and weeds to sprout. 

“Yeah,” Connor breathes. “It’s the- it _was_ the orchard. That I told you about.” Suddenly, everything clicks into place. Of course this place meant (means) something; of _course_ it’s important. The orchard is a big deal to Connor. 

“Oh,” Evan says, but it comes out as a surprised squeak and Connor flushes. “The- the orchard! Wow!” 

“I thought you would like it,” Connor mutters sheepishly. “It’s cool if. I mean, it’s alright if you don’t, it’s kind of dumb.”

“No it’s not. It’s great.” These aren’t just trees, they’re important trees, they’re meaningful trees. The fruit they bore wasn’t just for eating. Evan tries and fails to stop himself from rattling off facts about deciduous trees as they continue their trek across the field. His enthusiasm has managed to perk Connor up a little, and by the time they reach the shade, Connor’s beginning to smile again. Still, Evan can’t shake the feeling that this is all going to collapse in on itself soon. Like Connor is getting further away and no matter how hard Evan runs, he can’t catch up. This whole situation has been weighing heavily on Evan’s shoulders, but he can’t nail down what’s making him uncomfortable. If he was brave, he would ask Connor what’s going on. If he was brave, he would have made Connor turn the car around fifteen minutes into the drive and go home, not to his house but to Evan’s. If he was brave, he would have forced Connor to sit down and explain what the hell is happening, because from where Evan’s standing, it all seems pretty fucked up. Like they’re playing out some cheap charade. Like this whole thing- all of it, all the nights they spent together, all the times Evan’s had to sit through dinner at the Murphy’s, all the conversations about dying and friendship and nothing- like this whole great messy _whatever_ they have is spiraling rapidly away from them.

And he can’t do anything to stop it.

~~~~ 

Stupidly, so, so stupidly, Evan decided to climb a tree. Connor had asked and Evan had insisted that _yes,_ he wanted to climb the tree and _yes,_ he was fine. This is the first time he’s even been off of solid ground since he dropped himself like a bag of rocks out of that tree in Ellison. They’re only about ten feet up, but Evan’s heart is definitely going to burst into a million little pieces and clatter around between his ribs, because it feels like it’s made of cheap off brand legos instead of strong reliable muscle. It’s just going to snap apart. Connor has pulled himself onto the branch beside Evan’s and lit a cigarette, despite Evan’s plea to cut it out. And. And Evan has been counting the scars and scratches and angry red scabs on Connor’s arms, trying to catalog the exact number so that he can keep a better eye on it, because he _knows_ that Connor amassed a significant amount while he was home this week. It hurts him from the tips of his fingers to the core of his fragile lego heart. The silence between them is at once comfortable and crushing. Evan wants to ask how bad it was at home, but he doesn’t. He can tell that Connor wants to say something, but he doesn’t. So they’re playing this dumb waiting game with each other, where Evan will start to say something and lose his words, then Connor will follow suit. 

He can feel the sun on his face; see the clear, bright blue sky. The world looks so much _better_ from up so high.

“Listen,” Connor pipes up, taking a long drag from his cigarette. “This is going to sound stupid, alright? I know it will. Just bear with me for a minute.” He takes another drag before flicking the butt away. “Okay?”

“Yeah, of course.”

“Good.”

“Great.”

“Awesome.” Evan can tell Connor is bracing himself for something big, can see it in the way he bunches up his shoulders and picks at his nail polish. Patiently, he waits for Connor to be ready. “I just- I’ve never really felt _real_. It sounds so stupid, I _know_ it does. It’s just like I don’t exist or something. Like nobody sees me. Like I’m a ghost. But. But when you’re around, I feel _more_.”

“Connor-“ Evan tries to catch his eye, but Connor has his face turned away, picking at a scab on his arm. He is flushed pink from his collar to the tips of his ears. 

“I don’t- I don’t want to talk about it any more. It was fucking stupid and I shouldn’t have said anything, okay?” Connor snaps. He rolls the sleeves of his hoodie back down. Evan wants so badly to take his hand and tell him that it was by far the nicest thing anyone has ever said to him. That it means more to him than Connor could ever imagine. His stupid body won’t listen to him, won’t move or let him speak. The worst part of this is that Connor is easily the best thing that has ever happened to Evan, but he can’t get himself to say it. “Look, I brought some stuff I want you to have.” He slings his bag off of his shoulder and hands it over to Evan. 

“You really didn’t have to get me anything, Connor,” Evan says. The bag is soft and worn. Pins knock together, clinking softly. 

“It was all stuff I already had, don’t worry about it. It’s kind of junky. I don’t know,” he shrugs. Embarrassment creeps across his face. “I guess it all just kind of reminded me of you, so.” 

Evan’s smiling wider than he knew possible. “God, Connor, you’re incredible.”

“Not even.” Connor rolls his eyes. “Just- just wait until you’re home to open it, okay?”

“Yeah, if that’s what you want,” Evan says. “Of course.”

They sit quietly for a few minutes. The weight of the bag on Evan’s lap is a solid reminder that Connor is his friend, which he tends to forget. Connor swings his legs, shuffles side to side. There’s something on his mind, Evan can tell. He opens and closes his mouth a few times before clenching his jaw decidedly shut, as if to tell himself to keep whatever he wanted to say inside. To bottle it up and jam the cork so far down that he’d never be able to pull it back out. 

“Evan,” he starts, but cuts himself off halfway through. The cork is working its way back out.

“Yeah?” Evan says. He wants so badly for Connor to just say what’s on his mind; it’s the static, the space between them that’s killing him.

“Never mind.” Connor sighs. Deflates. Starts climbing back down without asking Evan if he wants to leave. Of course, Evan follows. He would follow Connor to the ends of the earth and back, given the opportunity. 

~~~~

Evan sleeps well that night. Before Connor had the opportunity to peel out, Evan had asked him to come inside for a while and watch a movie or something. It had taken a lot of work, but Evan managed to convince Connor to stay for dinner, too. Heidi had gotten off early to surprise Evan. The three of them ate pizza and leftover chinese in front of the television through peels of laughter. They were watching some terrible made for t.v. movie, and Connor kept whispering in Evan’s ear; leaning on his shoulder and tucking his feet under Evan’s legs. This was what Evan had missed most: the easy, gentle affection, the sloppy happiness, the warmth of someone at his side. Connor had pulled his hair back and Evan counted the freckles on the side of his neck. Somehow, Connor’s hand ended up on Evan’s leg, and during particularly bad scenes, he would squeeze his knee and make a big show of biting back his laughter. 

He didn’t go home until after eleven, but Heidi and Evan were perfectly content with that. They were all laugh drunk and messy. Evan could feel the press of Connor’s fingers to his thigh for the rest of the night. 

“He’s a really great kid,” Heidi said as she watched him pull away from the curb. 

“Yeah, he is.”

~~~~

Evan waits until he was sure Heidi had gone to bed to open the bag. He dumps the whole thing out on his bed in one massive swoosh, taking in the extraordinary mound of gifts. It’s all little stuff, but it’s enough to make Evan’s whole body vibrate with anticipation. First, a small framed photo. It’s the picture Zoe took of them at À La Mode, and Evan knows for a fact that Connor doesn’t keep photos in his room, so he must have had it printed. Next, a candle in a glass jar. There’s a marked up copy of _The Little Prince,_ with notes and doodles in the margins. Little trinkets that Connor had on his desk. A deck of cards. A drawing of a tree. A thin leather bracelet. An extra sweatshirt, because Connor knows that Evan practically lives in the one he’d been given months ago. After Evan has made it through all of the gifts, he finds a note. 

_Dear Evan Hansen,_

_I just want you to know that you mean the world to me. I’m assuming that I gave this bag to you today at the orchard, which I hope you liked, by the way. None of this stuff is big, and I’ve been meaning to give you some of it for a while, but I didn’t know how. Anyway. I don’t want you to be sad, alright? I know you can’t control it, but try. It’s hard to exist sometimes. It’s okay. Don’t be sad._   
_Sincerely, Me_

~~~~

Although Evan had slept well, waking up is a nightmare. He’s immediately filled with ice cold dread. This is ordinary. Or, it used to be. To keep his mind off of his building anxiety, he wanders around the empty house. Heidi left a note on the kitchen table, _going in early, see you later! p.s. don’t forget to eat :)_ along with a twenty dollar bill. He can’t shake the sick feeling, even as he stuffs himself with three massive bowls of off-brand lucky charms because he can’t get himself to do anything other than shovel cereal down his throat. He leaves his dirty bowl in the sink and drifts aimlessly from room to room, eventually settling on the living room. The couch swallows him whole without Connor there to lean on, so he lets himself sink into it as his hummingbird heart flutters against his ribs. He thinks about calling Connor but decides against it. After yesterday, Connor probably needs a break. Eventually, he goes back up to his room and opens his window. There’s a cold mist hanging in the air, blanketing Evan in melancholy. 

As if he wasn’t already feeling bad enough. 

He tries working on homework for a while, but can’t concentrate. He’s too anxious to hold onto a concrete thought for more than a few seconds, so he can’t even began to figure out what’s got him so worked up. Around eleven, he goes back downstairs to get something to eat. Off-brand lucky charms again. This time, he doesn’t even use a bowl. Teeth coated in a waxy film, he tries to remember walking to the kitchen but can’t. This is the crippling, mind numbing combination of anxiety and depression that Evan hates more than anything in the world. He feels like it’s unfair; he feels like he deserves it. 

He stumbles back up to his room, feeling too full and empty all at once.

Back upstairs. To the bathroom. Pace the halls frantically. Check the time. Slam back into the bedroom with too much vigor and fall into the bed. Gasp for the next breath.

He pulls Connor’s sweatshirt on feebly and leans out of his open window, into the mist. Distantly, he recognizes the sound of his phone vibrating on his desk. He has twenty six messages. 

Six are from Connor, one is from Jared, and the rest are from Zoe and his mom.

He opens Jared’s first, figuring it’ll be better to just get that out of the way. 

—-> Jared 4:25 AM: _did u ever figure out whats goin on w/ murphy_

He decides not to even respond to that. Next, he opens his mom’s.

—-> Mom 6:36 AM: _Hey baby, I’m so so sorry but I have to go in early today. I hope you slept well!_

—-> Mom 8:15 AM: _Good morning sleepy head!_

—-> Mom 9:30 AM: _Are you awake yet? I left money for dinner on the table._

—-> Mom 10:48 AM: _Did Connor make it back home alright last night?_

—-> Mom 11:00 AM: _Have you heard from Connor today?_

The dread that has been growling ferociously in his belly comes to a head; he forgets how to breathe. With shaking hands, he responds that no, he hasn’t heard from Connor. Zoe’s texts come next- four asking how it was to hang out with Connor after school yesterday and another ten asking where Connor is. 

—-> Zoe 7:00 AM: _I know you hung out with him yesterday_

—-> Zoe 7:01 AM: _Just tell me he spent the night ok I won’t be mad_

—-> Zoe 7:24 AM: _Do you know where he is_

—-> Zoe 7:56 AM: _Evan please_

—-> Zoe 8:37 AM: _Please just tell me he’s with you_

—-> Zoe 9:00 AM: _Wake up_

—-> Zoe 9:00 AM: _Wake up_

—-> Zoe 9:00 AM: _Wake up_

—-> Zoe 9:13 AM: _Where is he_

—-> Zoe 9:58 AM: _I hope he’s with you because we can’t find him_

Can’t find him? He went home last night. Evan watched him drive away. Evan watched him turn where he was supposed to. With a sincere amount of stomach churning apprehension, he opens the texts from Connor.

—-> Connor :) 12:15 AM: _i know youre asleep but i really need to say this okay_

—-> Connor :) 12:16 AM: _i think youre amazing_

—-> Connor :) 12:16 AM: _i think youre the best thing thats ever happened to me_

—-> Connor :) 12:18 AM: _i dont want to hurt you_

—-> Connor :) 12:20 AM: _youre my best friend_

—-> Connor :) 3:07 AM: _im_

What’s going on? What’s happening what’s happening what’s happening what’s happening what’s happening what’s happening what’s happening what’s happening what’s happening what’s happening what’s happening what’s happening what’s happening what’s happening what’s happening what’s happening what’s happening what’s happening what’s happening 

His phone buzzes.

—-> Mom 11:57 AM: _I’ll be home in just a minute._

He doesn’t remember falling to the floor, but he scrapes himself up and shuffles downstairs to meet his mother in the driveway. When she arrives, she puts the car in park but doesn’t kill the engine. 

Evan is barefoot. There is a thin layer of ice on the sidewalk. 

The first thing Heidi does is take off her coat and wrap it around him. He feels like a baby. There are tears on her face.

“Mom,” Evan hiccups, and the hiccups turn to sobs, and he doesn’t know what to do.

“You don’t have shoes on,” Heidi says wetly.

“What’s happening?” Evan cries. He can’t feel anything.

“Let’s get inside,” Heidi whispers. 

“Mom, what’s happening?” He’s howling now, throat raw. “What’s happening?”

She shakes her head. Her chest heaves. “Inside.”

There are people on their front porches, come to see the comotion. Heidi manages to wrestle Evan back inside and sit him down on the couch. She wraps him in more blankets, like he’s a trauma victim. Like he’s been through something. 

“Mom,” Evan says, but it comes out more like _mo-o-o-o-m_ because he can’t breathe and he’s hiccuping and he’s choking and he’s dying, he’s dying, he’s dying.

“It’s Connor, baby,” Heidi says. She holds his face in her hands, wiping tears away. Secretly, Evan knew something happened. Deep down in the darkest part of himself, he knew. As soon as he woke up, he knew. “They found him. They brought- he came into the ER about half an hour ago.” 

“He’s not- he’s not-” Evan tries. “He’s still-” He swallows too much air at once and feels like he’s going to throw up or pass out or just die, just fucking die right here on the couch right now with his mom’s hands on his face and no shoes on, why isn’t he wearing shoes?

“He’s alive,” Heidi assures him. “He’s alive.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :') sorry fam

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys! If you make it this far, thanks! Feel free to ask me questions/ contact me on my tumblr, paast-lives. Or. You know. Just scream into the void with me. Special thanks to my friend and beta, cam-elopardalis on tumblr.  
> And remember, you are not alone.


End file.
